could mess things up. It’s safer having him on location, especially if the sign’s gonna do more than just pop up for a few seconds.”
“So he was out there?” Matt asked. “In Antarctica? And in Egypt?”
“He was in Antarctica,” Rydell confirmed. “Egypt I don’t know about. Again, it wasn’t part of the plan. But from what I saw on TV, I’d guess he was there. He has to be within half a mile or so of the sign. That’s the transmitter’s range.”
An approaching siren wailed nearby. Matt tensed. Through a narrow passage that led to the main drag on the other side of the low, commercial buildings that backed up to the alley, he spotted the flash of a police car blowing past.
It was time to vamoose.
He turned to Jabba. “We need to move.” He flicked the gun at Rydell, herding him on. “Let’s go.”
“Where?” Rydell asked.
“I don’t know yet, but you’re coming with us.”
“I can’t,” Rydell protested. “They—”
“You’re coming with us.” Matt cut him off. “They’ve got Danny. I have you. Sounds like a good trade.”
“They won’t trade him for me. They need him. Much more than they need me. If anything, they’d probably be happy to see me dead.”
“Maybe, but if they haven’t killed you yet, it means they also need you for something,” Matt observed.
Which, judging by Rydell’s expression, struck a nerve. But he seemed to quickly shelve it as he told Matt, “I can’t go with you. They have my daughter.”
Matt scoffed. “Sure.” Rydell was, clearly, a cunning liar. Which suddenly put everything else he’d told Matt in question.
“I’m telling you they’ve got my daughter—”
“Bullshit. Let’s go,” Matt prodded him, though something about the intensity in his voice, in his eyes—was Matt missing something? His fury at Rydell didn’t let it in and plowed ahead. “Move.”
“Listen to me. They grabbed her. In Mexico. They’re hanging onto her as security. To make sure I don’t rock the boat. They can’t even know I talked to you. They’ll kill her.”
Matt wavered, suddenly unsure—and Jabba stepped closer.
“Maybe it’s true, dude.” He turned to Rydell. “She’s here.”
Rydell’s head jerked forward with attention. “Here?”
“We saw her,” Jabba informed him. “A couple of hours ago. Maddox and his goon squad flew her into a small airport near Bedford. We thought they were her bodyguards.”
Rydell’s expression clouded.
“They have your daughter, and you only think you’ve been ‘side-lined’?” Matt’s expression was heavy with contempt. “I don’t know, man. Me, I’d take it as a definite sign that you guys are now enemies.”
Rydell looked at him blankly, Matt’s words clearly weighing him down.
Matt shook his head indignantly and just said, “Let’s go.” He motioned to Rydell with his gun.
Rydell’s features fogged up as he desperately searched for a glimmer of clarity. He then shook his head and raised his hands in surrender, palms out, and took a step backward. “I can’t.” He took another step back, then another. “They’ll kill her.”
Matt’s anger flared. “You should have thought of that before you started looking the other way while your people got bumped off.”
“How many times do I have to say it?” Rydell blurted. “I didn’t want any of that.” He shook his head stoically. “Even if I wanted to help you, I can’t. Not as long as they have her. So do what you want, but I’m not going anywhere with you.”
Matt raised his gun at him, but Rydell didn’t stop. He kept inching backward, his palms spread, his eyes darting around, taking stock of his surroundings.
“Stop. I mean it,” Matt ordered.
Rydell just shook his head and kept backing up. He was now at the mouth of the small passageway that led to the main drag.
Matt hesitated. Rydell saw it. He gave him a small, knowing, almost apologetic tilt of the head before bolting into the passageway.
“Shit,” Matt muttered as he took off after him. “Rydell,” he yelled, his voice echoing through the narrow brick canyon as he charged down the grubby passage, Jabba in tow. Within seconds, they burst onto the main road. Matt stumbled to a halt. A few pedestrians stood there, on the wide sidewalk, motionless, eyes locked on Matt, taken aback by his sudden appearance and his gun. Behind them, Rydell was backing away, arms spread out in a calming gesture.
Matt felt too many eyes on him. Rydell was slipping away, and he couldn’t do anything about it.
“Let’s get the hell out of here,” he told Jabba, before turning and rushing back down the passage toward the Bonneville. He’d lost Rydell, but Danny was alive, and right now, that was all that mattered.
Chapter 59
Alexandria, Egypt
The decision to avoid Cairo Airport proved to be an inspired one, although it hadn’t started off that way. Gracie had gotten herself into a knot by picturing herself doing what Finch normally took care of—in this case, trying to sneak Father Jerome past an Egyptian passport clerk who would be either maniacally fastidious, sexist, anti-American, or any combination thereof.
The plane was waiting for them when they got there. Darby had come through, as promised. They made their way to the civil aviation office in order to access the tarmac without going through the main terminal, and kept Father Jerome well out of view. They were well aware that the merest glimpse of him could trigger a stampede. He was too recognizable—perhaps the most recognizable face on the planet right now. The clerk manning the small office turned out to be a Copt—a one-in-ten chance in Egypt—and a devout one at that. One look at Brother Ameen’s cassock did the trick. Within minutes, their passports had been stamped, the gates had been opened, and they were climbing up the stairs of the hastily chartered jet. The plan was for the driver to wait and make sure the plane took off unhindered before letting the abbot know it was safe to announce that the priest was no longer at the monastery, in the hope of defusing the tense crowd besieging its walls.
Gracie started to relax as the Gulfstream 450’s wheels lifted off the runway and the sleek fourteen-seater aircraft streaked upward to its cruising altitude, but her relief was short-lived. It only allowed darker thoughts to resurface. Thoughts about Finch. Visions of him, lying there in the sand. Dead.
A veil of grief descended over her. “I wish we hadn’t left him there,” she told Dalton. He was in the seat opposite her, facing back. “It feels awful. Us being here, while he’s . . .” She let the words fade.
“We didn’t have a choice,” Dalton comforted her. “Besides, it’s what he would have wanted us to do.”
“And to think, just when he was covering the story of a lifetime.” She shrugged, thinking back. “After everything he’s been through, all the wars and the disasters . . . to die like that.”
Dalton nodded, and they just sat there quietly, crippled by the loss. After a moment, Dalton said, “We’ve got to tell the folks back home about Finch.”
Gracie nodded quietly.
“We need to give Ogilvy an update on our ETA,” he added. “I’ll go talk to the pilot. See if he can patch us in to the desk.”
He pushed himself to his feet, but Gracie’s hand reached out and arrested his move. “Not just yet, okay? Let’s . . . let’s just take a few minutes for ourselves, all right?”
“Sure.” He glanced back at the galley and said, “I’ll see if they have some fresh coffee. You want one?”
“Thanks.” She nodded, then added, “If they’re out, a couple of fingers of Scotch will do just as nicely.”
