Night Road’s online meeting room. He got to the television fan site, entered Eric’s password. It still worked; someone at the Night Road was being sloppy, not eliminating his account yet.
Or maybe they were just busy getting ready for Hellfire, whatever horror it was, and the thought chilled him.
He signed in as Eric and he started a new discussion with a request for help: I have a cell phone that I need to track. Immediately. Help please. And he typed in Jane’s cell phone number.
He waited. He clicked on a posting about a video link and to his horror the video started with a close-up of a guy he recognized as the man in Houston who’d been standing at the intersection waiting for Allen Clifford. The cheap jacket, the scarred cheeks – Luke remembered him running away in the dim streetlight in Houston. His eyes were wide and a razor began a slow draw across his throat.
Luke turned off the video before anyone around him could see the execution. He felt sick. That’s what they’ll do to you if they catch you. That’s what they’ll do to Aubrey and Dad.
He jumped to an English-language news site, and the shooting at the Tower was the top story. No suspects caught yet.
He went back to the Night Road site, hoping against hope. A reply waited for him. I have your phone info. What do you have to trade?
Inspiration struck and he wrote the kind of lie he thought would appeal: I have a nice set of bank accounts, established, ready for cleaned money.
He waited. It took an hour and he fought his impatience. Fine, the answer came in a private message to Eric’s account. The phone was registered to a Jane Mornay, she had a Paris address near Saint Germain, on a street called rue de l’Abbe-Gregoire. He signed off without posting the promised set of accounts. Betraying the guy who’d traced the phone probably meant his password would be invalidated and he couldn’t use the site again, but it didn’t matter. He would have the woman behind all his misery, the woman who had stolen his life.
And he would be closer to the truth about his father, his life, Hellfire. He thought Jane was at the nexus of all these events, an unseen hand, one he was about to drag into the sunlight.
He walked out the door, shielding his face again at the library’s doors. He was afraid every camera was an eye watching him.
50
Mouser kicked Aubrey and Warren Dantry out of the back of the van, sending them sprawling at Henry Shawcross’s feet. The packed dirt of the old, vast barn smelled of horse, of hay. Aubrey blinked. Shafts of light made yellow bars on the brown of the floor. She saw a BMW parked behind Henry. She tried to make herself small, curling into a ball. One of the men had hit her after she’d spoiled his shot at Luke, kept a gun on her head to force Warren Dantry to sit still. She looked up at Mouser, Henry, the two remaining thugs. She realized no one was looking at her. They were all looking at her fellow prisoner.
Warren Dantry rolled onto his back and Henry stared. Mouser said, ‘You recognize-’ and Henry raised a hand to silence him.
‘You were on the plane. You died,’ Henry said.
‘Hello, asshole,’ Warren said.
Mouser saw Henry’s hands start to tremble, clenching into fists.
‘Luke is gone,’ Mouser said. ‘No way he’s an amateur. I think he’s been working for his dad this whole time. You’ve been played for the biggest effing fool on the planet, Henry.’
‘No,’ Henry said. ‘No, no. Not possible.’
‘No to what?’ Warren said. ‘No that I’m here or no to Luke having handed you your ass on a plate?’
‘Leave us,’ Henry said. ‘I want to talk to the walking dead alone.’
‘No,’ Mouser said. ‘You’re blinded, Henry. You’re blinded by your affection for your stepson. It ends now. You are incapable of calling the shots. You’ve put our money, our whole network, and Hellfire at risk. I’m in command now.’
Henry slid him a look of utter poison. ‘No, you’re not.’
‘Jesus, Henry, you really can’t run anything,’ Warren Dantry said. ‘Even when you’re supposedly the smartest guy in the room.’
‘Shut up. Shut up, shut up, you’re dead.’ Steel coated his tone, but underneath everyone could see a murderous rage.
‘Academics must take the evidence before their eyes into account,’ Warren said.
Henry seized the bound Warren and half-dragged him into an unused room off the main barn floor. He slammed the door closed. He shoved Warren to the floor.
‘What is Quicksilver?’ Henry said.
‘It’s your death,’ Warren said. ‘Unlike mine, yours will be for real.’
Henry studied Warren’s face. ‘Whoever they are, they must have paid you a fortune to abandon your wife and child. I would have enjoyed your funeral except I could see the agony Barbara and Luke suffered. I don’t think you gave them a moment’s thought.’ He knelt close to him. ‘You think I’ve lost? You lost, you heartless bastard. You lost the last ten years.’
‘You had to take over my life because you never could have built one for yourself.’
‘I loved being married to Barbara, loved being Luke’s father. And I was better at it than you were.’
‘Please. You destroyed it all. Barbara knew what you were, what you were becoming.’
Henry staggered on his feet.
‘I’m guessing she confronted you about your illicit activities while you were on your drive that day. I knew her better than anyone else. She wouldn’t have been able to contain her outrage. She called you out, didn’t she?’
I know what you are, Henry. You can’t lie it away. Her words, coated with venom. Him trying to explain, convince her she was wrong. Grabbing at the wheel, begging her to pull over. I want you out of the house, Henry, out of our lives. Gone forever. The car wheeling loose, the guardrail suddenly crunching and giving way, the car tumbling through air.
‘And you killed her.’
‘It was an accident. Just a stupid accident.’
‘There are no accidents around you, Henry. You’re the Black Death in a bad suit.’
Henry kicked Warren in the stomach. Hard. ‘Shut up.’ Then he kicked him in the face. Blood burst from Warren’s mouth, a chip of tooth pebbled across the packed dirt. Then Henry leaned down, grabbed Warren’s head, and started pounding it against the ground.
‘You’re dead, you’re dead, I’m going to make you dead again,’ Henry screamed.
‘Let him go.’ Mouser stood in the doorway, holding Aubrey. He held a gun aimed at Henry’s head.
‘I told you to leave us alone,’ Henry said.
‘We need him alive.’ Mouser guided Aubrey to a corner chair. ‘For information, or for ransom.’
‘No, he has to die, now.’
‘Go back to being dead?’ Mouser pushed the gun against Henry’s skin, between the nose and the upper lip. ‘Listen to yourself. We need him.’
Henry slapped the gun away. ‘Why? I can tell you what Quicksilver is if this bastard’s behind it. It’s a group of eggheads, with a bit of muscle thrown in, to evaluate threats and fight them off the books. Just like the Book Club. He took it over from me, he stole all the credit.’
‘Quicksilver is far more than the Book Club ever was. Just like Luke is far more of a man than you’ll ever be.’ Warren spat out another sliver of tooth and blood.
‘You,’ Mouser said to Warren. ‘How much do you know about us? Specifics.’
Warren hesitated and Mouser aimed his gun at Aubrey’s head. ‘Talk or she dies.’
‘You’re going to kill us anyway.’ Warren looked at Aubrey, sadness in his eyes. ‘I’m sorry, Aubrey, but it’s true.’
‘I know.’ Aubrey closed her eyes. As if waiting for the bullet to end the nightmare.
‘But I think if you want this money you’re after so bad, you won’t shoot her. Luke might still be willing to
