by James Tucker
But . . . but . . . maybe she does.
At this thought, he swallowed. Mei wiped away his tears, her expression blank. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, she shook her head, warning him against something. Maybe against crying.
She said, “Put on your shoes.”
He didn’t look at the men. Instead, he went over to the entrance to the house and put on his gray New Balance shoes. When he returned to the kitchen, he saw Mei standing at the kitchen counter, making food, pouring herself a glass of water and an orange juice for him. He saw the squat man relaxing on the sofa, the black revolver in his hand. The tall man was by the large window overlooking the valley. He was slowly pacing, gun at his side.
Mei drank from her water glass. Ben stood beside her and sipped his orange juice. Its coolness soothed him, and he realized he was hungry.
He noticed Mei straighten. Her voice became stronger. She said to the men, “What do you want with us? What are you doing here?”
The tall man by the window stood still. He raised his chin and stared at her. In accented English he said, “We’re waiting.”
She opened her hands. “For what?”
But the man didn’t answer. He only looked out the window.
91
Buddy and Ward climbed out of the Boston Whaler and stepped onto a private dock on the north side of Point Lookout, Long Island. Buddy had difficulty walking. His legs felt like rubber, and he nearly fell while climbing up the concrete steps onto the property owner’s backyard. Brick caught and steadied him, pulled him around the white clapboard house that appeared to be empty of people. On the other side of the house was a crumbling restaurant in red brick with a roof of asphalt shingles that needed repair. Buddy shook violently and knew he belonged in a hospital, but he steeled himself for the task at hand. Turning at the sound of an engine, he saw the driver of the Whaler pocketing a thick wad of bills as he maneuvered the boat into a nearby slip.
Brick led him out to the sidewalk. Brick’s silver Tesla was parked at the curb. After popping the trunk with his key fob, Brick pulled out a duffel bag stuffed with clothes.
Buddy stared at the dry jeans and shirts and shoes and jackets, not sure if they were meant for him. When he noticed motion beside him, he realized Ward was stripping off his clothes. All of them. In five seconds, his brother stood naked on a jacket spread over the pavement. Then Ward took clothes out of the duffel and put them on. Buddy took a deep breath and followed suit.
Brick leaned into the trunk and pulled out hiking boots. Two pairs, one for each of them. He set them down and Buddy and Ward put them on.
Brick nodded. “Let’s go.”
Ward sat in the front seat; Buddy stretched across the small back seat. Brick glanced in the rearview mirror and put the car in reverse.
In dry clothes, Buddy began to feel more alert. Rather than growing calm, he became more anxious. “We need to find Mei and Ben,” he said. “But I don’t know how.”
When Brick threw the car into drive, it burst forward with speed that surprised Buddy.
In the front passenger seat, Ward took up his phone that he’d left with Brick. As Ward held the phone in his palm, Buddy could see the green text bubble. He said, “Who sent it?”
Ward turned around and faced into the back seat. “Ben.”
“What did he say?”
“They’ve been taken.”
Dread filled Buddy. The sense he’d lose everything. His body tightened with impending panic.
The car spun around and accelerated west on the Long Island Expressway. Ward again faced the front and spoke loudly over the nearly silent motor. “When we get close to the house, we should watch for vans and SUVs. They might pass us, driving back into the city.”
“The house?” Buddy said. “We don’t know which house. We don’t even know the town.”
Ward shook his head. “I have their location.” He held up his phone so that Buddy could see Google Maps.
Buddy squinted. “I don’t understand. How could you . . .”
Ward half turned toward the back seat. “Buddy, you might not have noticed, but the Apple Watch box I gave Ben had already been opened. By me. Because I had my tech guy install a monitoring app so I could track Ben’s location on my phone. He’s at a house outside Rockridge.”
Shit, Buddy thought. That’s fucking brilliant. But he said nothing. He was thinking about getting to Ben in time.
In time for what?
Buddy shook his head angrily, though neither Brick nor Ward could see him. Anxiety pulsed until his entire body shook with it. He gripped the door handle and said, “The men won’t keep them at the house. And they’re not driving into the city. They’re going to the nearest airfield.”
92
Two hours later, Ben heard it. He’d been hoping for the sound of a car—Ward’s Range Rover with Buddy and Ward inside. But the noise wasn’t from a car.
From his perch on a stool at the kitchen bar, he looked out the big window that faced north. The tall blond man pacing by the window stopped and also stared through the glass. The sound grew louder until Ben recognized it. He searched the sky and saw a propeller plane flying low over the ridge. The house shook as the noise grew loud and the plane passed over the house. He thought it couldn’t be more than a hundred feet above them.
The sound of the plane’s engines faded, returned, then disappeared to his right. The plane didn’t fly over the house a second time. Outside, the gray afternoon light had darkened, and he could see a few lights twinkling faintly in the distance. He turned from the window when he heard Mei give a brief cry.
The man with the shaved head had shoved his gun into her back. He said, “We go now.”
Mei winced and looked past Ben to the tall man, who was by the window. In an even voice, she said, “Where are you taking us?”
Ben felt the blond man put one of his enormous hands around his neck. The man squeezed until breathing grew difficult. The man pushed him forward, across the room, past Mei and the man with the shaved head, to the door.
Squirming away from the blond man, he tried to turn around to see if Mei was following, but the man’s grip was like steel. He couldn’t move his head.
Then he heard Mei call to him. “I’m here, Ben. Behind you.”
Her voice calmed him, though the panic had taken hold of him. Panic, because he couldn’t run or hide or fight against the terrible thing happening to him. Because they were trapped. His mouth had the coppery taste of fear, but he continued walking as best he could.
As they went outside into the cold, he realized he hadn’t put on his jacket. He glanced up and saw only the increasing darkness. In the sharp cold he put his arms across his chest, then dropped them, worried the men would notice his watch.
He kept waiting for the watch to tap his wrist, alerting him to a text from Buddy and Ward, but there was no tap. He knew it then: there would be no help.
The man holding his neck reached forward, opened the Suburban’s left rear door, and pushed him inside. The man slid in beside him. Ben saw the door to his right open, and soon Mei was sitting beside him. She put an arm around him, leaned over and kissed him, held him tightly to her, and quietly urged him to buckle his seat belt. He did so, and then hugged her, smelling her sweat mixed with the lemon scent she wore. To him, the scent was clean and pure and comforting, even when they were headed somewhere he knew would be terrible.
The man with the shaved head walked around the Suburban, climbed into the driver’s seat, and started the car. He didn’t look behind him when he threw the car into reverse. Instead, he backed up quickly, and Ben heard scratching sounds behind him. And panting.
The German shepherds. He smelled them, knew the dogs were in the cargo area. Maybe in a crate, maybe loose.
There’s no escape, he thought. Not from the dogs.
He hugged Mei more tightly. She touched the back of his head with her hand. Its warmth calmed him, but only a little.
The man with the shaved head put the c
ar in drive. The Suburban surged forward down the long drive, away from the house, toward Rockridge and . . . where?
He thought maybe he should expose the watch and try to dial 911. But he knew the man beside him would tear it off his wrist before he could type the number. His only option would be to run when the door opened, when they arrived wherever they were going.
He moved his hands slowly, slowly, until they covered the buckle of his seat belt. Shifting his eyes left, he could see the tall blond man pressed against him. The man had one hand on the left rear door’s armrest, and one hand on his right knee. Very close to Ben. Almost touching him.
Sliding his right thumb over the buckle, Ben pressed down on the button. It made no sound as the catch released. Keeping his hand over the buckle, he held it in place. If he allowed the belt to retract, he’d be discovered.
93
Sitting beside Ben in the back seat of the Suburban, Mei pretended to be at ease. For Ben’s benefit. And to mislead the Aryan giant next to Ben and the man with the shaved head, who was driving and glancing at her in the rearview mirror. She put aside her initial failure to kill the men. Now she had to create another opportunity for escape, and for life. For her, and especially for Ben. Beneath her placid expression, she thought furiously.
They passed Rockridge and turned south on Highway 17. The Suburban accelerated rapidly.
Mei hit upon a single idea. It filled her instantly with hope, before that hope disintegrated just as quickly.
No, it won’t work, she told herself. There’s no escape, not from these men with their guns and their German shepherds. Don’t delude yourself, Mei. You can’t win.
But even as she tamped down her hope in the idea, its real possibility increased. Over the course of thirty seconds, it became a plan that would probably fail, yet it was their only chance.
She leaned forward and put a hand on the back of the empty front passenger seat. “You need to stop,” she told the man with the shaved head. “I need to use a restroom.”
The man didn’t take his eyes off the road. “No.”
The Suburban accelerated down a hill and began to climb up another, larger hill. To her left she noticed a dark wood.
She raised her voice. “I have to go now. Right now.”
The Aryan giant to Ben’s left said, “Hold it. You’re a big girl. We’ll be out of the car in a few minutes.”
“I can’t wait a few minutes. My God, we were out hiking and running, and then we hiked back. I drank a ton of water when we got to the house. I swear to God, I just need to use a restroom.”
The man with the shaved head snorted. “Shut up, would you? No stops for pissing.”
Mei leaned forward as if in extreme discomfort. She stayed that way for a while, hunched over, her right hand reaching down and sliding the pocketknife out from between the laces and tongue of her right boot.
The Aryan giant said, “Go in your pants, bitch. It won’t matter, especially not to you.”
Mei turned her face slightly to the right. Concentrating hard, she attempted to open the pocketknife with her right hand alone. Without looking at it, she tried to find the groove near the edge of the blade so she could insert her thumbnail and pull it open.
The Suburban bucked over the uneven road.
Her hand lost its place.
She began again, feeling along the edge of the blade. There it was. Small and narrow, like an invisible crease.
Her thumbnail caught in it, and she pulled. Slowly, so that the blade, extending, didn’t click audibly into place.
But at last the knife was fully open, the blade sharp. She ran her index finger over it. And then at last she sat up, her right hand gripping the blade.
The Suburban’s suspension jerked, and the big vehicle crested the top of the hill and began to move faster. Neither man seemed to pay her any attention.
Ben turned to her, yet she didn’t return his glance.
Three times, she took deep breaths and planned the motion of her arms, her hand, the knife. She hadn’t put on her seat belt as Ben had. She could move without restriction.
Her eyes focused on the bare neck of the man driving, the man with the shaved head who’d hit her in the face. His skin was mottled with the remnants of acne. It was pink and pale and, in some places, a sickly blue. But to her, it looked soft. To her, it was the target.
Now she stared out the right rear passenger window, as if in a daydream. But her hand turned the knife until she could grip it tightly, blade aimed down, her thumb over the end of the bolster.
Again she counted.
One.
Two.
Three.
She put her left hand on the raised armrest between the two front seats and half stood. Then she raised her right hand, reached to her left, and plunged the knife into the neck of the man with the shaved head.
The man screamed, put his hands on his neck.
The Suburban spun out of control, throwing her against the right rear door, knocking the knife against the window and out of her hand. Ben shouted something. The Aryan giant held the grab handle above his head to steady himself, at the same time reaching into a shoulder holster for his gun.
Mei found the knife as the Suburban spun in a circle and went up on two wheels, nearly rolling. She held it the way she had before. And she lurched across Ben and stabbed at the Aryan giant’s face.
The blade caught him below his right eye. She raised it for another attack. But he punched her in the chest, causing her to fall backward onto the seat. He fumbled for his gun, found it, and took it up.
The Suburban swerved to the right and the left, then stopped abruptly, pushing her hard against the back of the front passenger seat. The Aryan’s gun banged against the left rear passenger door and fell to the rubber floor mat.
Mei opened the door, fell out, tumbled to the side, and stood. She reached into the Suburban for Ben. He was out of his seat belt and coming toward her. She took hold of his hands and pulled.
But he was held back. One of the Aryan’s large hands held the hem of Ben’s sweater and was yanking him back inside.
“Kick him!” Mei shouted. “Hard!”
Ben kicked at the man before dropping his feet to the floor, pushing with all his strength, and driving himself toward the open door.
His sweater stretched and then tore.
Mei saw that he was free, grabbed and nearly threw him out of the Suburban. Without waiting for him to catch his balance, she seized his right hand and tugged him into the woods, where they were instantly hidden by evergreens.
For a few yards, they ran together until she stopped him, removed her hand from his. In a low voice she said, “Go left, quietly and fast. Don’t stop!”
His eyes widened with fear. “But where are you going?”
“We need to separate,” she told him, moving her hands apart for emphasis. “We’ll be harder to find.”
He touched her arm. “Are you sure?”
“Yes! Now go!”
She watched as he headed left through the trees, running quietly and quickly, just as she’d told him to do. For a few seconds, she stood there, loving him, loving everything about him. And then she turned to the right, running fast but calling out, as loudly as she could, “Help! Help! Help!”
She knew they’d find her, but she hoped he’d escape. And live.
94
Buddy held on as Brick drove the Tesla fast. Brick aimed at the faint orange glow on the western horizon, screaming north on Highway 17. Brick swerved around other cars with increasing recklessness the farther they got from Long Island and as they ascended the hills east of Wurtsboro Ridge State Forest. Higher and higher, the Atlantic farther and farther behind them, dusk spreading across the land. Buddy’s fall into the ocean part of history now. He’d been unconscious repeatedly and in shock, then his mind had begun to move and his heart to beat.
Boom-boom. Boom-boom. Boom-boom.
But his full range of emotions hadn’t returned until their dri
ve to Rockridge. It hadn’t taken long, but now the intensity of his feelings washed over him as the frigid waves of the Atlantic had done, crystallizing in a way that would be difficult to control. What coursed through his veins wasn’t mere anger, it was rage.
The events of the past few days, especially his fall into the ocean, had turned him into a tightly coiled spring that was about to push back. Hard. So hard he didn’t care how many he took down with him. He didn’t care what happened to himself. He was going to do more than touch the third rail. He was going to grab on to it and chain himself to it until he could see what it was and where it led. His hands shook with fury. He felt hot. Without looking at the Glock 19 Brick had handed him, he ejected the magazine, confirmed it was loaded, and reinserted it. His eyes weren’t on the gun or on Brick and Ward in the front seats. No, he was searching outside the car.
For an SUV that didn’t look right. A panel van. A truck that didn’t belong.
They were approaching the small town of Rockridge, ninety minutes northwest of Manhattan. He saw farms, pastureland, modest houses, hardware stores, and farm implement dealers. Gas stations and a McDonald’s, their lights beacons in the dusk.
“How far?” he asked, not taking his eyes from the oncoming traffic.
Ward said, “Fifteen minutes.”
Shit, Buddy thought. They passed us. They’re behind us. We’ve got to turn around!
But he said nothing. Despite his anxiety and fury, he wasn’t sure how much time had elapsed. He continued to stare out the windows, right and left, at the oncoming cars to his left and at any parking lots, for Mei’s Audi or for anything suspicious. He hadn’t noticed anything. In his peripheral vision, he could see Ward’s left hand holding an iPhone with Google Maps on the screen. Ward was giving Brick directions to the airfield closest to the house on the bluff over Rockridge. This was Sha-Wan-Ga Valley Airport, several miles southeast of the house. Buddy knew that if Brick’s Tesla reached the airfield after Mei and Ben had been forced onto a plane, he would have lost the two people he most cared about.
