Five in a Row

by Jan Coffey

  “Once we’re through the bulk of them,” she replied, “we’ll just continue running the program on a loop. Eventually, we’ll get them all.”

  The SAC nodded and walked off to make a call. Emily stood up, giving way to the engineer that she’d been working with.

  Ben saw her stretch her back. She smiled at him, realizing he was watching her. It was the first time he’d seen her smile in days. She walked behind his chair and put her arms around his neck. He’d been going through files on Lyden Gray’s background and keeping an eye on her laptop for any incoming e-mail at the same time.

  “Anything?” she asked, resting her chin on his shoulder.

  He pressed a kiss on her arm. “Three penis enlargement offers in half an hour.”

  She laughed softly, and he loved the sound of it. “They’re on to me.”

  Ben didn’t give a damn about all the people who were working around them; he turned around and kissed her lips, long and hard. “I’ve missed you.”

  “Me, too,” she murmured. “I want this nightmare to be over. I want to get back to my life, to you and Conor.”

  The kick in his heart came like a jolt. She included him in her life. “The three of us have to take a vacation.”

  “He’s in the middle of the school year.”

  “We’ll work around it. Take long weekends, whatever. I want to spend time with you, Emily.”

  She hugged him, pressed a kiss against his neck. “I must be too tired to think straight,” she whispered in his ear. “But I’d love to take you into one of those classrooms down the hall and have my way with you.”

  He laughed. “I like that kind of thinking.”

  Ben was just about to kiss her again when a new e-mail popped up on her laptop. They both turned to that direction.

  No false screen names this time. It was from Lyden Gray. Ben saw Emily’s hand shake as she reached over him to open the e-mail. It said only one thing.

  12:00.

  Fifty-Seven

  The streaks of morning light coming through the high windows cast a spell over John Colter. The moment he opened the door, he traveled back in time.

  He loved the feeling. He had spent so many hours in here with his boys. He loved the smell of the place, a combination of wood and engines. It had been a boathouse in the old days, but as the boys grew up, the boats and most of the sailing paraphernalia had gone outside and the cars—one old junker after another—had started to find their way in. He looked up at the rafters, above the rows of suspended fluorescent lights; there were still masts and pieces of rudders and oars up there, mixed in with parts of exhaust systems and at least one Thunderbird convertible top. He switched on the lights.

  He glanced at Conor, taking it all in. The Aston was up on blocks in the middle of the floor, the tool benches and the gleaming red tool chests beside it, the tires piled neatly in the corner, the doors and the hood of the car standing against one wall. The leather seats were sitting on two sawhorses and partially covered with a blanket. The look on the boy’s face was priceless.

  “Let me show you what we’ve done,” John growled, his throat a little tight. “And all the goddamn work we have left to do.”

  Ten minutes later, they were working side by side like old friends. Conor had a hundred questions. He was bright as a new penny, curious and interested in everything. It occurred to John that the teenager was like his own sons—he had to have his hands in everything. He didn’t only watch; he liked to try things.

  The engine work on the Aston was nearly completed. Once it was finished, they would have a great deal more to do mechanically, never mind the interior and the body work. He’d been tinkering with the carburetor for a week. He picked it up from the bench and carried it to the car.

  “Your family seems to like Aston Martins,” Conor said as they began to mount it back on the engine.

  “Well, they’re really Ben’s passion. He gave this to me for two reasons. One was that he wanted to keep me out of trouble.”

  “What was the other reason?”

  “I think he felt like I’d missed something, working hard at my law practice all those years.”

  “Didn’t you have time to do this kind of thing?”

  “I tried to. I loved the law, but I made sure I spent lots of time with the boys growing up. Actually, I think it was more that he thought I didn’t have the time or the money to spend on myself, on my own interests.”

  “You did, though, didn’t you?”

  “Yep. But don’t tell Ben,” he said, grinning conspiratorially at the teenager. “What got you interested in Astons?”

  “Because this was James Bond’s car.”

  John laughed. “I think that was the same reason that got Ben interested in them.” He saw Conor smile, obviously pleased with the comparison. “Did you ever ride in one?”

  Conor nodded. “I rode in Ben’s car on Friday. Saturday, too. It’s so sad about the accident.”

  The older man waved a hand. “His insurance will buy him a new one.”

  “Maybe he’ll get a DB9 this time.”

  A week ago, John would have been sure of that. His son’s passion had always been his cars. Since Sunday, though, seeing the way he was with Emily, John figured Ben’s interests were shifting. It was about time.

  “Grab that wrench off the bench, will you.”

  John showed him how to tighten down the carburetor bolts correctly.

  “All right, young fella,” he said, opening a side door of the barn and switching on a ventilation fan. “How about climbing in there and cranking this baby over.”

  Conor’s eyes were the size of saucers, and John gestured toward the driver’s side.

  “Go ahead. Just sit on the cushion in there where the driver’s seat will go.”

  Carefully, the teenager climbed into the car. “Is there anything I need to do?”

  “If you notice, the clutch pedal’s missing, so all you have to do is turn the key.”

  The engine roared to life. In two seconds, Conor was back standing beside him as John adjusted the air and gasoline mix. When he had it the way he wanted it, he stood back and nodded with satisfaction.

  “Go ahead and shut it off, will you, Conor?”

  The teenager reached into the sports car and killed the engine.

  “That’s great,” John said, slapping him on the back. “I’ve been trying to get that right for—”

  Peggy’s voice came through the intercom by the workbench.

  He went over and pressed the button. “What is it, sweetheart?” He winked at Conor. “You know you’re interrupting important work out here.”

  “You’ve got a call from the clerk of the court’s office in New Haven. They said it’s very important. The fellow said he’d hold for you.”

  “All right. I’ll be right in.” He turned to Conor. “I better go see. While I’m gone, how about unpacking those boxes for me. They’re pieces of the exhaust system I had shipped over from England. They arrived Monday.”

  “Sure! No problem!”

  All the way to the house, John tried to imagine what they’d want him for at the courthouse, but came up empty. His wife looked up from the apples she was peeling by the sink and pointed to the phone on the table as he came into the kitchen.

  “Hello. John Colter here.”

  A dial tone greeted him. He looked at the phone and shook his head.

  “Couldn’t wait, I guess,” he said. “I’ve got the number in my office. I’ll call them back from there. Did you get a name?”

  “No. He just said the clerk of the court’s office.”

  John trudged into his office and looked up the number. A chipper-sounding secretary answered right away. She was obviously surprised by his question.

  “No, Attorney Colter. No one called you from this office.”

  “You’re certain.”

  “Definitely.”

  Shrugging his shoulders, John hung up and walked back through the kitchen.

  “
You’re sure it was the New Haven courthouse?” he asked after telling his wife what happened.

  “I’m sure of it.”

  “Oh, well. If it’s important enough, they’ll call back.”

  He walked out of the house, looking forward to getting back to work with Conor again. This time he let Queenie and Duke come out with him. They liked the teenager and he obviously liked them.

  The dogs ran ahead of him, sniffing the ground around the building and then heading into the woods.

  “Come back here, you mangy beasts,” he shouted after them.

  The door of the barn was open. As he went in, John spied exhaust parts scattered on the floor. A short section of pipe lay nearby, and on the floor were drops of dark liquid that didn’t look like engine oil. Something was wrong.

  “Conor!” he shouted.

  There was no one inside. He stooped and touched the liquid on the floor. He looked closer. There was blood on his fingers.

  Fifty-Eight

  Emily couldn’t even pretend that she was concentrating.

  She watched the time, checked her e-mail again, and then followed the movement of the second hand on the clock. It was 10:35. An hour and twenty-five minutes left to whatever.

  It was a relief that someone else had taken charge of running the program on the database. Four separate computers executed the commands and every now and then she glanced at the quick changing screens. There were other things she could have been doing, though. Things like going through Gray’s system again and trying to see if she understood how he’d constructed the trojan. That way, they wouldn’t have to wait until someone turned on their car before they killed the virus. But that required focus, and Emily had forgotten what the word meant.

  “You have to eat something,” Ben said, sitting down on the chair next to her.

  Emily looked at the food she’d left untouched next to her laptop. Someone had brought in bagels, donuts and bottles of juice for everyone. So much for all the signs saying Positively No Eating And Drinking In The Lab.

  “I can’t,” she whispered.

  “You have to,” he told her. “Give your body a break. There’s nothing you’ll be able to do about the lack of sleep. But I can’t remember the last time you ate.”

  “Do you remember Pac-Man and Ms. Pac-Man?”

  He smiled. “Pac-Man was one of the first video games I ever played. Why?”

  “Well, I feel like Ms. Pac-Man is running around in my gut, eating my organs one after another.”

  “That sounds painful.” He took her hand and pressed a kiss on her palm. “All the more reason to eat, though. You can’t starve Ms. Pac-Man or the big guy will come after you, too.”

  “Pac-Man himself?”

  He nodded as his cell phone rang.

  “I’m expecting calls from Gina and Adam.” He reached for it and looked at the display. “Neither. It’s from my parents.”

  Conor. The call had to be about Conor.

  Ms. Pac-Man started moving again, fast enough to set a land speed record. Emily’s heart was beating so hard that she figured everyone in the lab must be able to hear it.

  Ben’s greeting was too brief. As soon as he rose to his feet, she knew. In the adjoining lab, Emily saw Hinckey was talking on the phone, too. He was looking at her as he spoke.

  “What’s happening with Conor?” she asked, getting up and tugging on Ben’s arm. “Tell me.”

  “I’ll call you back. Yes, we’re coming.” He ended the call and turned to Emily. “He’s disappeared. He was in the barn with my father. My dad went to the house to answer a phone call. By the time he got back, Conor was gone.”

  She stared at him, stunned. She could barely breathe with the knot that suddenly formed in her throat. Before she could do anything, say anything, even find her voice, the instant messenger box on her laptop popped up. It was Conor’s screen name.

  Mom

  “Oh, my God. He’s here,” she said, pouncing on the laptop in disbelief. Her tears fell on the keyboard.

  She pulled her hands back. It could be a lie. Gray had a habit of hijacking other people’s IDs.

  Conor? she typed.

  It’s me

  Make me believe its you, she wrote.

  Hinckey and another agent rushed in from the other lab. Ben pushed Emily down on a chair before the computer.

  “I just got a call from Westport,” the agent announced grimly.

  “Same here,” Ben said.

  “We’d assigned four people to watch the house,” the SpecialAgent explained. “They’re searching the property now. But so far there’s no sign of Conor. First indication is that he was taken by force. There’s evidence that someone must have been hiding in a cabana, but we don’t know for sure it was Gray.”

  She stared at the screen. “This might be him. Please, Conor,” she whispered.

  Say something so I know it’s you, she encouraged.

  I love to watch reruns of Family Guy.

  More, Emily typed.

  my favorite dinner is lobster. It’s hard to wake me up in the morning. my favorite color is navy blue.

  “Give me more, sweetheart,” she said quietly.

  My left foot is almost a full size bigger than the right one.

  More, she typed again.

  There was a pause.

  When I was eleven, I pretended I was you and took an ad out in the newspaper personals.

  Emily smiled, remembering the incident. She’d been shocked to get the first call and had cancelled the ad right away. Conor’s excuse for doing it was that he wanted a little brother or sister. He just assumed that he had to find her a boyfriend first. Neither of them had ever told anyone about that.

  I’m here, honey, she typed. The tears again started getting out of control. Where are you?

  He says 12:00.

  Who? Who are you with?

  Gray.

  Emily had to force herself to breathe. The rush of emotions made her want to scream, cry, fight.

  Where? Please Conor where are you? she typed.

  12:00 noon. He says you can wait for us by the Vietnam war memorial stone wall in the middle of Wickfield Green.

  Give me a clue Conor.

  Please Mom. he says no police or FBI or I’ll die. You have to wait there alone. Exactly there and nowhere else. Or I’ll die.

  I’ll be there honey. Everything will be okay. And this is to you, Lyden Gray. You jerk. Asshole. If there’s one hair missing from my son I’ll kill you with my bare hands. Do you understand? I’ll chase your miserable ass to the end of the world if I have to. You’ll die a slow death.

  “He’s gone,” someone behind her said. “Logged off.”

  Emily’s fuse was lit. She pushed to her feet so hard that the chair toppled over behind her. She turned to Ben and Hinckey.

  “We’re smarter than him,” she snapped. “We’ve got a hell of a lot more resources. Help me get this creep.”

  “You know we will,” Ben answered.

  “He’s slipped up in grabbing Conor. This is his biggest mistake yet. We’ll be ready for him,” Hinckey said confidently. “We’ll get him.”

  Fifty-Nine

  Less than a half hour after Conor messaged Emily, Wickfield was swarming with Homeland Security and FBI agents. No one knew what Lyden Gray was planning, but if he was going to come into the village, they were going to be ready for him. Roadblocks and evacuation of the village center were considered, but discarded. They didn’t want to scare him off. State police and federal agents were scattered throughout the village. When the action started—if it started—they would keep people off the street. By 11:30, nerves were wearing thin.

  From where Emily was pacing the floor of the small lobby of the Wickfield Inn, she could see the monument. It was a five foot high semicircular wall of granite in the center of the village green. At the base of the wall was a bed of fading mums.

  At least two dozen agents had taken up positions in the inn. Emily wasn’t counting. The inn’s f
irst floor had become the control center for the operation. They weren’t going to risk bringing in any police trailers. Emily had seen Jeremy earlier. The detective’s job was to make sure the town was secured once they knew Lyden was here.

  If the creep showed.

  It was 11:32 when Liz came through the front door.

  “This asshole won’t hurt him,” she told Emily, hugging her. “Conor is okay. Keep telling yourself that.”

  She was telling herself that. Lyden Gray was after her. He wouldn’t hurt her son. The thought was the only thing that was keeping her from going insane. Emily glanced at her watch. 11:35. She looked out the front window. On the far side of the green, she could see the Eatopia Café covered with giant sheets of plastic and roped off with yellow police tape.

  “How could anyone do so much damage to so many people?” Emily said bitterly to no one in particular. “Just because he was attracted to me?”

  “He’s crazy. A psychopath. You know he was planning this for a long time. You were only an excuse. If it hadn’t been you, he would have used someone else. The end result would have been the same,” Liz said gently.

  “But we wouldn’t have been in the middle of this. Look what he’s done to the café, what he might still do to Conor,” Emily said fiercely. “I never thought I’d be capable of killing anyone. But I am now. I could kill Lyden Gray. I’m also for capital punishment. For slow death. And for dismemberment.”

  “Like in Braveheart?”

  “Slower,” Emily said. “And infinitely more painful.”

  “Gray won’t have a chance with you on his tail, honey,” Liz said with a smile.

  There were five main roads that connected at the center of town. Emily had been told that the police were going to monitor them as best they could. She heard a helicopter fly over the inn. A four-wheel-drive came up the street and turned into the inn’s parking lot. Emily recognized the driver as Adam Stern. He was back from Albany.

  She glanced at the clock. 11:42.

  “I should go out,” she said.

  “Not yet,” an agent near the window told her.

  Adam walked into the lobby. He looked as exhausted as everyone else. First thing, he walked to Emily and gave her a hug.