No Time to Die

by Kira Peikoff

  “I have to go back,” she said. “I’m so sorry.” Now everything was ruined. Natalie wouldn’t get to do the research, and Gramps would be stuck with his advancing age.

  Under her chin, Galileo’s hand opened up, revealing an oval blue gel capsule. She gasped and turned to face him. This close, she could see that the worry lines around his eyes ran deep, but he was smiling.

  “Look familiar?” he said.

  “Did we go home?”

  He shook his head. “We’re still in Ohio.”

  She looked out the window. They were in some kind of shopping center parking lot. Across the lot was a wide gray building with a red roof. The words CVS/PHARMACY were splashed across its façade. “So how—?”

  “I called Dr. Carlyle and he told me what medication you needed. I called it in to the closest pharmacy under a phony registration, and here we are.”

  “Wow.” Just the sight of the blue pill rejuvenated her. She took a swig of water from a bottle he handed her, and downed it.

  “So I don’t need to see a doctor?”

  “I am a doctor.”

  “You are? For real?”

  “Boarded in internal and emergency medicine. I’m taking good care of you, don’t worry. Do you remember what day it is?”

  “Tuesday?”

  “Good. Do you remember how old you are?”

  She started to say twenty but then her eyes narrowed. “Trick question! Not fair!”

  He chuckled. “My dear, you’re going to be just fine.”

  She smiled, shaking her head. “Now what?”

  “We go to the safe house for the night, as planned. We’ll continue our journey tomorrow after we all get some rest.”

  As drained as she was, a thrill zipped through her. Their adventure could continue after all.

  “We’re so glad you’re okay,” Natalie said. “I was really worried.”

  Theo didn’t say anything. She wondered if he was too freaked out to go near her now, let alone speak.

  Soon Galileo was driving them again on a busy road lined by small businesses—a funeral center, a Chinese restaurant, a nail salon. The sky was dimming to a purple twilight. Inside, the car was silent. Zoe was too embarrassed to look at Theo. So much for a good first impression, she thought.

  The car accelerated and swerved off the main road, pulling into a tree-lined block filled with upscale two-story houses. Zoe caught Galileo’s eyes in the rearview mirror as he glanced back. He looked tense.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  “Nothing. I thought maybe there was a strange car behind us.”

  She and Theo turned around at the same time to look, but no one was there. Galileo made a U-turn and pulled again onto the main road. They drove for about a mile before passing a gray sedan that had pulled off to the side of the road.

  “That car again,” Galileo muttered. “I don’t like it one bit.”

  He swerved again onto a smaller road that led to another cluster of middle-class homes. Sure enough, the gray car soon appeared, crawling several hundred feet away.

  Natalie squinted into the rearview mirror. “Who is that?”

  “I don’t know, but I don’t want to find out. And that’s the house.” Galileo pointed out her window at a well-maintained split-level home with its lights on at the end of a cul-de-sac. Running perpendicular to it was a white wall that separated this block from the adjacent one.

  “What are we going to do?”

  By way of answer, he swung around in a violent U-turn and sped down the street, then turned right, left, right in quick succession, getting farther away from the car and deeper into the suburbs. After three more right turns and two lefts, Zoe felt lost, but Galileo apparently knew his way around. They came to a stop at the end of a block that looked identical to the other one—large houses, manicured front lawns, nice cars parked in driveways. The weird gray sedan was nowhere to be seen.

  For a minute, they waited. Zoe chewed on her lip until it bled. Natalie and Galileo kept craning their necks around to inspect all windows and mirrors. Theo’s eyes were intent on the rear window, not meeting hers.

  “Now,” Galileo said, “let’s go.”

  They lunged out of the car as if it were on fire. Zoe clutched her backpack close to her chest. Inside the front pouch was a tiny bulge where Galileo had put her pill bottle.

  “This way.” He tilted his head to the white wall that was now on their left side. “We jump over and go in through the backyard. Just in case.”

  “Do you tend to suffer from paranoia?” Natalie asked, only half joking.

  He grimaced. “A hazard of the job. But usually it’s nothing.”

  Crickets chirped in surround sound and twigs crunched underfoot as they approached the wall, which was dwarfed by the dense tall trees that rose up on either side of it. First Theo lifted himself up and hopped over with no trouble. Galileo hoisted Natalie over, and then Zoe. She felt safe and weightless in his arms, but when he set her down on the wall, its stucco scraped against her calves. To help her jump down, Theo extended a hand and she took it.

  Once Galileo scrambled over, he led them through a dense maze of trees and shrubs to a short wooden fence about her height. Even she found it easy to hop over without much help, but she did have to suppress a grunt when her feet landed hard on the dirt. Soon the others were by her side in a private backyard surrounded by rustling trees. The full moon cast their elongated shadows across the grass. Before them stood the two-story safe house, its windows illuminated but obscured by heavy curtains.

  “This is it,” Galileo whispered. “Let’s go in. But first, a precaution: Everyone turn around.”

  CHAPTER 19

  They traversed the yard backward. Galileo explained that inverting the direction of their footprints was an easy way to mislead anyone who might come poking around. To Natalie, it was another example of either his paranoia or ingenuity; she wasn’t sure which. But they obeyed. He stayed a few feet out ahead, his reverse stride purposeful, his spine erect.

  In the glow of the moonlight, Natalie could see the tense muscles of his back underneath his T-shirt and the corners of sweat that darkened his armpits. Her breath caught when she also noticed on his head of black hair the strands of white that glistened in the light when he moved. Was it possible that he could be ten or fifteen years older than she’d suspected? The thought reminded her just how little she knew about him—and how quickly she had extended her trust.

  He turned around to motion them to wait. Then he took off jogging across the backyard toward the house next door. At first Natalie’s stomach lurched. Could he be deserting them? But when he crept back over his footsteps in the grass, she understood. More misdirection. He joined them again as they made their way to the back door, Zoe taking huge reverse steps to keep up.

  Galileo knocked six times in a strange pattern of emphasis, every other knock a stressed beat. “It’ll take a minute, but don’t worry. He’s expecting us.”

  Theo kicked a fallen twig away from the door. Zoe sighed and scanned the yard. Except for the swaying trees and a distant rumble—probably thunder—the night appeared still.

  When Natalie’s impatience was reaching its peak, she heard plodding footsteps inside the house coming closer. Galileo smiled as if to say, See?

  The curtain was pulled back on the sliding glass door and an elderly olive-skinned man peered out at them. His face seemed molded from ancient clay. Cracks ran from the corners of his dark brown eyes and around his mouth.

  A latch clicked and the door slid open. The four of them squeezed through, Galileo leading the way. The scent of spices hit Natalie first—cumin and coriander and pepper. She saw that they were standing in a cheery kitchen decorated with yellow tiles and a painting of tulips in a geometric-patterned vase.

  Before them, the man stood hunched over at the waist, his hands clasped behind his back, beaming up at them. Natalie wondered if this was his way of showing respect. If so, it made her very uncomfortable. How
could Galileo require this kind of subservience? The poor man was overweight, and as he stretched out his arms and leaned forward, she worried he might topple over.

  “Galeeleo!” he exclaimed in a thick Mexican accent. “I am so happy to see you!”

  “And you, Julian!” Galileo said, crouching down to embrace him.

  “How was de trip?”

  “Well, we made it.” He gestured to Julian’s back. “How’ve you been?”

  Natalie winced as she watched his futile efforts to strain against his back and stand tall. That was when she realized that he wasn’t purposefully hunched over—he was disabled, his body frozen in a permanent bend. Her spine ached just looking at him.

  “Good,” Julian said with a smile, and Natalie could see he was forcing cheerfulness, despite what must have been great pain.

  “Why don’t we sit down,” Galileo suggested, “and then—”

  “No, no I am fine. Introduce to me your friends.”

  Galileo obliged with a round of introductions. Theo and Natalie each shook his hand, which carried a surprisingly firm grip. When Zoe reached out hers, with a delighted grin he pinched her cheek instead.

  “You are muy bonita, señorita. Just like my little girl.”

  “Who’s not so little anymore,” Galileo said. “His daughter, Nina, works at the headquarters. You’ll all meet her, she’s lovely.”

  “What does she do?” Natalie asked, more to be friendly than out of real curiosity.

  Julian’s grin deepened into the proud smile of a man who’d gambled everything and won. “She is—how you say—a virologist.”

  “Cool!” Theo exclaimed.

  “She’s one of our best researchers,” Galileo said. “We’re very proud to have her.”

  “What’s wrong with your back?” Zoe asked.

  An awkward pause ensued, during which Natalie shot her a chastising look. Any adult ought to know better. Julian raised his eyebrows.

  “Sorry,” she mumbled. “I was just wondering.”

  She’s still uninhibited, Natalie thought with fascination. Still like a child.

  Galileo patted Zoe’s back as if to reassure her. “That’s okay. He had a bad accident at work last year.”

  “I was elevator repairman,” Julian said. “One day I fell into shaft. From de seventh floor.”

  Zoe wrung her hands, clearly regretting bringing it up. “I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s okay.” His face brightened. “The Network save me.”

  “What’s a little extra construction,” Galileo said, winking at Julian. Then he caught Natalie’s eye. “We take care of our own.”

  “What did they do for you?” she asked, intrigued.

  “I show you.” He motioned with a hand to follow him, trudging out of the kitchen through a short hallway that opened up to a living room furnished with an old boxy television and beige fabric couches. He stopped at the base of a steep green-carpeted staircase, leaned on the handrail, and pointed. “Aquí!”

  Carved into the wall, to Natalie’s surprise, was an elevator. Zoe pressed the button, which lit up. A moment later, the doors slid open to reveal a blond wood–paneled interior, straight out of a luxury hotel.

  “Whoa!”

  “So I no have to move,” Julian explained. “After, I couldn’t take stairs but I live here forty-six years. I no want to leave.”

  Galileo patted his shoulder. “I’m so glad it’s working out. Why don’t you go upstairs to rest and I’ll make us dinner?”

  “Oh, but Señor Galeeleo, you drive all day!”

  A car door slammed—loud enough to come from his driveway. Natalie felt her heart palpitate. Galileo rushed to the front door and peered through the peephole. Natalie reached for Zoe and Theo and pulled them close.

  “I expecting no one,” Julian said, frowning.

  “Well?” she called.

  When Galileo turned around, his eyes had gained the hardness of a soldier.

  “Julian, it’s time. Don’t be afraid, you know what to do. Guys, follow me.”

  Natalie felt her stomach shred itself. “Where?”

  Zoe’s lips started to tremble. “I don’t like this.”

  The knock came. It sounded as grim as a gunshot.

  “Hang on,” Galileo said, running to grab their backpacks from the kitchen.

  The knock gave way to a pounding that lacked any charade of politeness. The doorknob jostled.

  “Ay, Dios,” Julian breathed, sinking onto the bottom stair.

  Natalie felt a suffocating helplessness set in around them like quicksand. There was no way out. A vision of her desolate jail cell flashed before her, and of the promised lab that might have been. Galileo was pulling her by the arm, toward the staircase.

  A gruff voice yelled through the door. “FBI, open up!”

  Before she could further contemplate their peril, she felt Galileo’s hand on the small of her back shuttling her, Theo, and Zoe upstairs. They tripped over each other, scrambling to move quickly, no time for questions.

  “We know you’re home!” shouted the voice outside. “Open up!”

  As they reached the top of the stairs, Natalie glanced around wildly. There were only three modest rooms—two bedrooms and an office. Where could four people hide?

  “They’re going to find us!” she whispered.

  “No.” Galileo turned to look her in the eye, as though he had all the time in the world. “You forget who’s really running this show.”

  “Who?”

  A mischievous smile broke across his face. “Me.”

  CHAPTER 20

  “If you don’t open this door,” Les shouted, “we’ll have to break it down!” His blood was pumping at his temples. He hadn’t felt this alive, this intense, since the day he founded the committee five years ago.

  “Are we really going to?” asked the anxious cop standing next to him on the doorstep. “You know, break it down?”

  Les smiled at him as at an angel. In spite of the AMBER alerts, the forensics work on the postcards, and the coordinated effort to man interstate checkpoints, it was this scrawny plainclothes cop who had saved the day by trailing the car—a stolen cop car. In fact, Les knew he himself deserved all the credit—the brains behind the operation always did. But he was feeling charitable.

  A blockade had been stationed for reinforcement at the neighborhood’s artery to the main highway, and two helicopters were hovering above—the FBI chopper that had flown him in and one from the Ohio State Police—beaming around white spotlights like the moon’s rays on steroids. The fugitives were cornered up, down, and sideways.

  “We have a SWAT team for that,” Les told the cop. “Chill out.”

  “But what if it’s not this house?”

  “The whole damn block has been searched. It has to be.”

  Inside, they could hear someone shuffling to the door.

  Les fingered the pistol in his holster, tangible proof of his control. I got this, he thought. How satisfying it would be to see the smugness wiped off Benjamin Barrow’s face when he found out.

  The door opened a crack and a short, elderly Mexican man poked his face out.

  “Hola, señores,” he said. “Can I help you?”

  The audacity, Les thought. “We’ve been banging on your door for five minutes, sir. What took you so long?”

  The door swung all the way open in answer. The man wasn’t short, he was disfigured, hunched over as if his back were supporting an invisible stack of bricks.

  “I’m very sorry. I am slow to get around, you see.”

  “Oh. And your name is?”

  “Julian Hernandez.”

  “I’m Les Mahler and this is my colleague Dave Wood.” He flashed his shiny federal badge with the seal of the Bioethics Committee—an eagle standing atop a microscope. “I’m sorry to inform you there’s a suspected kidnapper in your neighborhood. We have to inspect every house on this block.”

  The man’s brown eyes widened in horror. “Of course! Pl
ease, have a look.”

  Les stared at him, challenging him to flinch or look away. But his face was placid—either the blank look of an innocent or the practiced blankness of an accomplice.

  “Come in,” he added. “Take your time.”

  “Thank you.” Les charged past him inside, sizing up the territory. It was a modest house that showed its age in its fixtures and furnishings—faded fabric couches and dusty bookshelves in the living room to the left, and to the right, an antique wooden table surrounded by old chairs.

  Les directed the cop to check out the upstairs, while he staked out the downstairs, hurrying through a wallpapered hallway and into the kitchen—the only room so far that looked lived in. Pink and yellow and blue tiles brightened the space as if it were a carnival. Water was boiling on the stove and the pungent scent of taco spices permeated the air. Julian followed at a distance, lagging behind.

  “Why so much food?” Les asked, eyeing the countertop, which was covered with shredded cheese, diced avocados, tomatoes, and an open can of beans.

  His eyebrows shot up. “What?”

  Les swept an arm over the counter. “Seems like you’re having guests.”

  “No, señor,” he replied. “I make a lot at once to save for the whole week.”

  “You live alone?”

  “Sí.”

  “For how long?”

  “Oh, more years than I can count en inglés.”

  Les noted the flicker of fear in his eyes when he noticed the gun, but that wasn’t tantamount to guilt. He brushed past the old man into the living room. To tuck away four people in a house like this could not be easy. The fireplace was too narrow, the kitchen cabinets too small. There were no crevices or shielded corners that he could see. He walked through each room, including the sparse two-car garage, looking underneath couches, opening cupboards, peering behind curtains, under counters, in the washer and dryer. But the few rooms that comprised the downstairs were frustratingly devoid of hiding spots.