Helpless

the moment, clear-minded and hyper-aware of his surroundings. He could wait for Lange to show himself, wait to know who Lange feared, and what he believed “they” wanted.

He texted Jill and she texted back: Green.

Good luck on your test, he wrote.

Thanks! Gonna ace it! :)

Tom was ready weapons-wise as well. Still no gun, but Tom did have the knife he’d brought to the James Mann hoedown. Even though the blade was small, Tom thought it big enough to get him out of any trouble Lange might bring his way.

Tom was well aware that Lange might be using psychological operation tactics on him. If that was his game, he’d done it well. Lange offered only the vaguest explanation for events and hadn’t provided any real information to back it up. He implied the exchange would be mutually beneficial. He insisted Tom come alone.

Deceive to achieve the objective.

These were tactics Tom knew so well, because he’d used them himself on many occasions. His involvement with Operation Imminent Thunder during The first Gulf War was now the stuff of psyops warfare legend. Imminent Thunder had been designed to deceive the Iraqi command as to the direction of the coalition’s ground attack. Tom led a six-man demolition team, which had set off a series of explosive charges between the Saudi border and Ra’s al Qulay’ah on the Kuwaiti coast. Six Navy SEALs and some aerial bombing were convincing enough to send several Iraqi divisions south to protect the beaches while coalition forces moved north into Kuwait.

Distract to evade the enemy.

The bell above the restaurant’s front door chimed twice. Tom swiveled in his seat and saw a man enter. The face was the same one he’d seen that night in the woods.

Unmistakable.

Kip Lange.

Lange had on a pair of blue jeans and wore a black T-shirt underneath a dark blazer. Tom kept his eyes locked on Lange. He watched Lange approach, saw him take off his blazer. He carried no gun that Tom could see. Lange did a 360-spin move, presumably to show Tom that he didn’t have a weapon tucked into the waistband of his jeans. Didn’t mean he didn’t have a weapon tucked someplace else.

Tom kept his gaze fixed firmly on Lange. Any slight move would put Lange on the defensive. Tom was ready to strike. Lange kept his hands where Tom could see them—smart move—and sat down on the empty stool to Tom’s left. Tom slipped the knife back into his boot.

“You can search me,” Lange said. “I’m unarmed.”

Tom checked Lange’s ankles and turned the stool to see his back again. Clean enough for now.

The waitress came right over. “Sorry, sweetie,” she said, “but we’re closing for the night.”

“No problem,” Lange said. “We’re heading out, anyway.”

“Oh? Where are we going?” asked Tom.

Lange slapped his right hand onto the counter, palm facing down. He lifted his hand slowly, revealing to Tom a small plastic flash drive, the kind that stored digital computer files.

“What’s that?” asked Tom.

“That’s what they’re after,” Lange said. “And it’s what you need to see.”

“Tell me about it.”

Lange shook his head and pushed the flash drive over to Tom. “Not here. We need to move.”

Tom scooped up the flash drive and dropped it into his jacket pocket. He waited for Lange to stand. Lange motioned with his head for Tom to lead the way.

“After you,” Tom said, pointing his outstretched arm toward the front door.

Tom dropped a ten on the counter. He followed Lange to the door, keeping a safe distance behind. Tom took a glance outside the restaurant’s front windows. He saw no detectable threats in the parking lot. Still, Tom maintained his careful watch over Lange.

Lange reached the parking lot and headed straight for a beige four-door Chevy Impala with New Hampshire plates. That car hadn’t been parked there before. Tom descended the restaurant’s concrete front steps at a relaxed pace. The night air blew a cool, refreshing breeze, but for some reason Tom couldn’t stop sweating.

Funny, I’m not nervous.

Lange climbed into his Impala and reached across to open the passenger-side door. He motioned for Tom to get in as well. Tom knew he shouldn’t have let Lange put his hands where he couldn’t see them. Why didn’t I react sooner? he wondered. Tom took a few cautious steps but stopped several feet shy of Lange’s vehicle. He was thinking it might be time to get his knife out again. “I’m not going anywhere with you,” he said. “We talk here and now.”

Lange got out of his car and approached Tom with his hands showing, fingers spread wide, and no weapons to be seen. Lange stopped within Tom’s striking distance. “Okay,” he said.

“What’s on the flash drive you gave me?” Tom asked.

“Nothing,” Lange said.

“What?” Tom put his hands to his temples. He felt light-headed.

“I said there’s nothing on that flash drive. I bought it at Staples right before I came over here. I can show you the receipt.”

Tom felt a buzzing in his head. The humlike vibration covered his entire scalp and seemed to seep underneath his skin. The tingling intensified. His vision didn’t seem all that clear, either.

“How are you feeling, Tom?”

Tom’s knees buckled beneath him, and Lange moved in quickly to keep him upright. Tom’s limbs felt loose and rubbery. Lange, with his arm draped around Tom, walked him over to the Impala. Tom felt too weak to resist. His tongue swelled inside his mouth, choking off the airway.

“What did you do to me?” Tom demanded to know.

Only, his speech came out thick, garbled, and barely intelligible to himself.

Lange shoved Tom into his car. “I haven’t done anything to you,” he said. “Yet.”

Tom heard the car door slam. His vision continued to blur and kept on blurring, too, until it went completely dark.

Chapter 48

Lindsey sat cross-legged on her bed and glared at her new cell phone. She pushed some buttons on the phone’s keyboard, heard some beeps, but frowned at the display. Jill sat on the bed behind Lindsey and laughed when her friend shook the phone.

“It’s not an Etch A Sketch,” Jill said.

“I don’t want to have to learn military time,” Lindsey snarled. “I want this stupid thing to display hours and minutes like a normal phone.”

Jill giggled at her friend’s frustration.

“Don’t just laugh at me,” Lindsey said. “Help me fix the stupid thing.”

“And then can we get back to studying for our test?”

Jill pushed a few keys and seconds later had the phone’s display the way Lindsey had wanted it. Jill showed Lindsey her repair job.

“You always were a smart one,” Lindsey said. She took the phone from Jill and, with a flick of her wrist, launched it into the air. The phone traveled across the room and landed harmlessly on top of a jumbled pile of clothes that Lindsey had left on the floor. Lindsey flopped down on her bed, and Jill did the same. The girls looked up at a poster of Dartmouth College, which Lindsey had tacked to her bedroom ceiling.

“Do you think you’ll go there?” Jill asked.

Lindsey kept her eyes fixed on the poster and didn’t turn her head to look at Jill. “I don’t know,” Lindsey said. “I’d like to. Remember that guy who came to speak to our class about colleges? He had tape on his glasses.”

Jill laughed and pulled herself up to a seated position. She turned her head to look down at Lindsey, who was still lying on her back. “Yeah. Like from eighth grade. So?”