The Wanted

by Robert Crais

  Pike moved ahead to the gate, checked the street, and motioned us forward. We ran to join him, and immediately separated, Pike pulling Amber to his Jeep, and me pushing Tyson. I felt exposed on the open street, like a fly on a plate. I knew the black car was coming. I expected the car to appear, and race toward us. I pushed Tyson harder.

  “The yellow Corvette. Move, boy. Run.”

  He ran. I ran beside him, watching the street.

  I shoved him into the passenger seat, climbed behind the wheel, and fired the engine. Pike was already rolling.

  I watched the mirror for black sedans as we pulled away, and checked every side street as we drove to the freeway. I looked for their big black beast as we climbed the ramp, and kept looking, even after the freeway swallowed us, a buffalo joining a herd, one hiding among the many, and finally safe.

  35

  I FELT MYSELF SLOW. For the first time in days, I began to relax. I had him. He was safe. The shrieking wind and creaks from my car were calming.

  “You okay?”

  He didn’t answer.

  I glanced over again. He held the backpack tight to his chest. He stared ahead at the freeway, but his eyes were empty, as if the road ahead didn’t register. He seemed smaller than before, and afraid.

  “Your mom’s at the safe house.”

  He hugged the backpack closer.

  “We’ll be there soon.”

  I studied him out the corner of my eye. He probably knew I was watching, but he gave no sign.

  “She’s been worried.”

  He shifted a little, and looked out the passenger window.

  “Where’d you stash the laptops?”

  He didn’t answer.

  “I didn’t hear you.”

  “The garage.”

  His voice was so soft I barely heard him. He still didn’t look at me.

  “How many do you have?”

  “Six.”

  “Speak up.”

  “Six.”

  Louder, but he still didn’t look at me.

  “They’re all in the garage?”

  “One’s in my room. The rest are in the garage.”

  “Anyone else know where they are?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Did Alec know?”

  “No, sir.”

  This was good. Alec couldn’t have told them.

  “Does anyone know you have them?”

  “Alec knew. Amber.”

  “Okay. Good. Your mom wants to see you, so we’ll let her see you. Then we’ll get them.”

  He nodded, but said nothing. He simply hugged his backpack, and stared out the window.

  I glanced over, and wondered what he was thinking. I thought he might be seeing all the many things he could not change.

  Nothing about what they did and how they lived had been real, but this was now changing. He was caught, and a man he feared was bringing him back to his mother. He was beginning to understand. There would be consequences.

  I stole another glance, and Tyson seemed smaller. I thought of The Wizard of Oz, the scene at the end when the Wicked Witch of the West grew smaller and smaller until she was gone.

  “You messed up.”

  He nodded.

  “You’ll have to answer for what you did. Understand?”

  He made another nod, so slight I almost missed it, and his shoulders quivered. He was crying, but he cried so softly I couldn’t hear him.

  I said, “Tyson.”

  He lowered his head, and the quiver grew into shaking.

  “You’ll feel worse before you feel better, but you’ll get through this.”

  He cried harder.

  “Now is when you start making things right.”

  He cried even harder.

  After a while I reached over and squeezed his shoulder, but only the once. The tears were his. Tyson had earned them.

  We drove in silence the rest of the way to his mother.

  36

  WE PULLED UP outside the safe house as Pike and Amber climbed out of his Jeep. Devon had already arrived.

  The safe house was a furnished two-bedroom rental north of the river in Studio City. The owner lived out of state. A long-term tenant had recently moved, so repairs and improvements were being made so the owner could raise the rent. Devon ran out to meet us. Tyson watched her coming, and looked like he wanted to hide.

  I said, “We’ll drop off Amber and split. We won’t stay long.”

  “My mom’s here.”

  “Your mom’s mad. She has a right to be, so man up. Get out.”

  Devon threw her arms around him like a linebacker trapping a running back, and sobbed as if he’d risen from the grave.

  Pike unlocked the house, but Amber lingered behind. She watched Devon maul Tyson with hugs, and seemed annoyed. She suddenly glanced at the bungalow, and spoke in her loud voice.

  “I expected bars on the windows, or really big walls. This is just a little house. It doesn’t look so safe.”

  Tyson squirmed and tried to pull away.

  “Mom, would you stop? Please.”

  Devon grabbed his shoulders, and gave him a shake.

  “No please. There is no please. How could you do this? What were you thinking?”

  “I’m stupid.”

  “You’re not stupid. Don’t you dare say you’re stupid.”

  I interrupted. Gently.

  “Devon, why don’t you check the house? Tyson and I will unload the car.”

  Devon started to say something, but stopped when she realized she was making a scene. She gave me her keys, and stalked up the drive. I steered Tyson to the Audi.

  “In case you missed it, I just cut you a major break. You’re welcome.”

  He met my eyes for the first time, but only for a second.

  “Thank you.”

  He watched his mother walking away.

  “She won’t like Amber.”

  “No. You can bet on it.”

  I loaded him down with his mother’s bags, and the extra-large plastic trash bag she’d filled with towels, sheets, and toilet paper. It was bulky and awkward to carry, but wasn’t too heavy. I took four grocery bags packed with soap, soda, paper plates, and plastic utensils, and the food she scrounged from my pantry. We carried the bags inside, and left them in the kitchen.

  The bungalow was small, and the furnishings were bare, worn, and crummy. A small dinette and three spindly chairs. A threadbare sofa and a cheap metal coffee table. Two bedrooms, a bath, and a living room with a dining area off the kitchen. The house had been painted the week before, and smelled like paint thinner.

  Devon stood in the dining room as far from Amber as possible. Glaring. Amber circled the tiny living room as if Devon wasn’t glaring, taking in the cheesy room with obvious pleasure. Tyson hid behind me, trying to be invisible.

  Amber beamed at him.

  “This sucks so bad it’s kinda cool, isn’t it?”

  Tyson shuffled uncomfortably, avoiding his mother’s eyes.

  Amber ran her hands over the walls as if they were the most amazing walls she’d seen.

  “It’s like we’re trapped in one of those creepy houses where people get chopped to death.”

  Devon snagged my arm, and pulled me aside.

  “Does this little bitch have to stay here?”

  I pulled her farther away, and lowered my voice. Tyson snuck glances our way, too scared to move.

  I said, “Her mother’s away. I left a message. When she calls, Amber can stay with her.”

  “There has to be someone. What about her sister?”

  “She’s out of town. I told you.”

  “How nice for them. Maybe they’re getting away from her.”

  Pike returned from his tour of the house, and wen
t to the door.

  “Toilet works. Locks work. Windows secure. We’re good.”

  I pulled Devon farther away, and lowered my voice even more.

  “I know this is awkward, but we have to get the laptops. I need you to handle this.”

  Amber suddenly spoke up behind us.

  “My mother won’t call.”

  Amber was leaning against the wall with her arms crossed. She looked somber, and maybe tired.

  “My mother never calls, so don’t get your hopes up. She doesn’t care.”

  I glanced at Devon, and felt bad.

  “She’ll call. If she doesn’t, I’ll keep calling until I reach her.”

  Amber shrugged, like I would only be wasting my time.

  “You’ll see.”

  Devon’s lips were pursed, and her expression was irritated. I arched my eyebrows. Well?

  She closed her eyes.

  “How long will you be?”

  “A couple of hours. I’ll stay in touch.”

  Devon managed a nod. She squared herself, and turned toward Amber.

  “I’m Devon. Tyson’s mother.”

  “I know. I’m Amber.”

  Pike left without a word. I grabbed Tyson’s arm, and followed him.

  Outside, I clapped Tyson on the back.

  “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

  “It was weird.”

  I looked at Pike.

  “I thought it went pretty well.”

  Pike said, “It was weird.”

  We climbed into his Jeep and went to get the laptops.

  37

  WE CRUISED PAST TYSON’S HOME, looking for the black sedan. If the men had planted a warning device, they wouldn’t be watching the property, but we still had to check. We circled the block, and parked in front of a neighboring house.

  Tyson craned forward, wondering why we stopped short.

  “This isn’t my house. Go to the next driveway.”

  “They planted a device on your house. Pike’s going to check it out.”

  Pike gestured behind his seat.

  “On the floor. The black backpack.”

  The backpack was heavy. Tyson made a little oomph when he handed it forward.

  “What device, like a bomb?”

  Pike dug into the bag.

  “Probably something that tells them if the garage opens, or someone enters.”

  Pike took a dark gray handheld device from the bag. It looked like an oversized walkie-talkie with stubby horns.

  Tyson perked up, and leaned forward. Interested.

  “Is that an RF detector?”

  Surveillance devices used radio frequency signals to transmit data the same way cell phones used Bluetooth to pair with a car phone, or Wi-Fi to connect with the Internet.

  Pike’s head turned, and Tyson’s reflection appeared in his lenses.

  “You interested?”

  “Yes, sir!”

  Pike let him handle the unit.

  Soul mates.

  “It detects radio signals, and pinpoints the source. That gives you the device location. Then, if you want, it matches the frequency, and jams the transmission.”

  Pike took the unit back, and turned on the power.

  “I’ll show you how it works when we get to the safe house.”

  Tyson was all in, and fired off another question.

  “But Bluetooth changes frequency, like if the connection gets weak. What happens if it hops to a different frequency?”

  They were having a moment, and I wanted to get the damned laptops.

  “Let’s save Mr. Wizard until later, okay?”

  Pike answered anyway. Maybe I hadn’t really said anything. Maybe I only imagined two killers were trying to murder this kid.

  Pike said, “No problem. We jam the entire spectrum, all frequencies across the range. Cell phones, TV remotes, Wi-Fi—every wireless device inside twenty meters stops working.”

  The men in the black car had used a similar device to beat Nora Gurwick’s alarm.

  Tyson looked awed.

  “I thought you couldn’t buy things like this.”

  Pike opened the door.

  “You can’t.”

  Pike slipped from behind the wheel, closed the door, and disappeared between the houses. A dog barked, but only once.

  Tyson looked at me.

  “I thought jammers were illegal.”

  I grunted.

  “Where’d he get it?”

  “I could tell you, but I’d have to kill you.”

  He studied me, then stared at his house.

  “What if those men are inside?”

  I settled back.

  “They’ll be sorry.”

  I angled the mirror to see him, and took out my phone. I showed him the pictures of the two men.

  “This is them.”

  His brow wrinkled as he studied each picture, first the man outside the restaurant, then the bigger man.

  “You took this one here, outside my house.”

  “Joe took it. He was here while I was looking for you. Either of these people look familiar?”

  “No, sir.”

  “How about this guy?”

  I showed him the businessman. Tyson shook his head.

  “Is the laptop his?”

  “We don’t know who these people are. If you have their laptop, something on it might tell us.”

  “Something dangerous. Okay.”

  I put away my phone, and studied him again. Devon had called him their resident IT expert, and he seemed pretty knowledgeable.

  “If they’re password protected, can you open them?”

  “I reset the passwords when I got’m.”

  I twisted around to face him.

  “You changed passwords?”

  “I have reset software I got from a friend. It was easy.”

  The Carl.

  “You didn’t delete anything, did you?”

  “No, sir. I just wanted to check the RAM and graphics cards.”

  I grunted like checking the RAM and graphics cards would be my first move, too, and turned back to the house. Pike had been inside a long time.

  “The five in the garage, where are they?”

  “A box on the top shelf. My mom can’t reach. I should get some cables and a drive from my room. We might need’m.”

  I nodded again. Tyson might be the world’s worst student, but he had the IT jargon down cold.

  “Your mom says you’re a hard-core gamer.”

  He fidgeted and looked embarrassed. Mentioning his mother probably reminded him how upset she was.

  “That why you kept the laptops? To game?”

  “The PCs. The Mac’s too old, but it’s so old it’s cool. It’s older than me.”

  “Ancient.”

  “The PCs have faster graphics, and superfast drives. You can always add RAM, but you’re stuck with the graphics card. I like to match the most RAM with the fastest GPUs.”

  “Meaning you take parts from one to soup up another?”

  “Yeah. It’s easier with a desktop, but you can play anywhere with a laptop.”

  “Like when you and Carl played.”

  “My mom told you about Carl?”

  “Yes. I went to see him.”

  He fell silent, and stared at the house. Thoughtful, and distant, and maybe smaller again.

  “Answering my text took guts. Thanks.”

  He met my eyes in the mirror, and nodded again, but this time the nod showed hope.

  Pike reappeared in the neighbor’s yard twenty-three minutes later, and climbed in behind the wheel.

  “Two devices, one on the sidelight outside the garage, and one in the living room. They feed to
a transmitter in the garage. Quality gear.”

  “Can we get into the garage?”

  “Through the kitchen. Once we’re behind the motion detectors and camera, I can crash the signal as long as we need.”

  I glanced at Tyson, and winked.

  “You’re on deck, bud. Let’s go kick some bad guy ass.”

  Tyson grinned as he pushed out of the Jeep.

  We traced Pike’s route through the neighbor’s yard, climbed a fence, and entered Tyson’s house through the dining room. Pike went first, letting the jammer work its magic as we made our way to Tyson’s bedroom.

  He frowned when he saw his gaming gear and monitors on the floor.

  “Wow. They trashed me.”

  He toed through the rubble and looked under the desk.

  “It’s gone. It was on my desk, but it isn’t here. Somebody took it.”

  “If they have it, it wasn’t the one they want. Get your gear.”

  He took memory sticks and an external drive from his desk, and cables from the mess on the floor. Pike loaded his gear into the backpack, and we made our way toward the garage. Pike stopped when we reached the living room.

  “The fish.”

  The aquarium stood on its stand, bubbling.

  I said, “What about them?”

  Tyson said, “We gotta feed them.”

  We waited while Pike fed the fish, then followed him into the garage. The walls were lined with gray metal shelving units. The shelves were crowded with different-sized boxes and the clutter that accumulates as time passes, and more boxes were stacked on the floor in front of the shelves. Handwriting identified their contents: Christmas/ornaments, Christmas/lights, Tyson—baby clothes, Mom’s lamp.

  Pike pointed out a small black box clipped to the outside of the garage door’s track, up high by the ceiling and difficult to see.

  “Transmitter.”

  I nudged Tyson toward the shelves.

  “Get’m.”

  Tyson squeezed past boxes, and leaned an aluminum ladder against the shelves. He reached for a box on the highest shelf. The cardboard was heavy with dust, and striped with peeling tape. GAMES was written on the side in faded Marks-A-Lot.

  I didn’t help. He tugged the box to the edge of the shelf, and eased down the ladder.

  The box was a jumble of game controllers, old game carts, keyboards, a monitor, cords and cables, and the five laptop computers. Tyson took them out one by one, and handed them to Pike. Four sleek, expensive PCs and a boxy Macintosh PowerBook that looked like a ’58 Ford truck next to four fire-breathing Ferraris.