Page 44 of Hellbent

The phone chimed, the call routing in through Signal, an encryption app developed by Open Whisper Systems. Every call, made over a Wi-Fi or data connection, was end-to-end protected, the only encryption keys controlled by app users. As he did with all security measures, Van Sciver had gone above and beyond, tweaking the code slightly, altering the protocols.

He eyed the screen, which displayed two words: ADDER LUSTFUL.

He thumbed to answer. “Code,” he said.

He heard a rustle as Orphan R eyed the words displayed on his end. “‘Adder lustful.’”

The matching code verified that the call was secure; no man-in-the-middle attack had occurred.

Van Sciver said, “Is the package in hand?”

Orphan R said, “We didn’t get her.”

“Because?”

A hesitation spoke to Thornhill’s dread. “X showed up. Took out four of my men.”

Van Sciver found himself actually using his kerchief to mop sweat off his neck. “How many men did you have at the train station?”

“Four.”

Van Sciver had no response to that.

“We thought it was just the girl. The surveillance cameras picked up only her. Alone. We thought it’d be a quick snatch-and-dash, and then we could use her to lure him in.”

“Instead he lured you in.”

“Seems that way.”

Van Sciver leaned forward in the rocking chair, set his glass down on the uneven planks of the porch. “We have unfinished business here. I want you back.”

“Shouldn’t we stick around in case X rears his head?”

“Leave your team in place there. But you won’t find him. He and the girl are gone. You missed your shot.”

There was an even longer pause. “I’m on a plane.”

Van Sciver hung up.

He picked up his glass and tossed the remaining tea into the hydrangeas.

The time for celebrating was over.

20

Wayward Pieces

It took some doing, but Evan found a motel on par with the beauty in Cornelius. Stale cigarette smoke oozed from the bedding, the towels, even the popcorn ceiling. The toilet was missing the tank lid. A pull-chain table lamp with a yellowed shade threw off a jaundiced glow. The comforter sported a stain the color of dried blood, which Evan hoped it was, given the less appealing alternatives. He’d rented the room for three hours, which explained everything worth explaining.

Now he sat cross-legged on the floor, the Hertz NeverLost GPS unit before him. Still attached to the metal stalk, it resembled a dismembered antenna. The lookout’s wallet and Samsung were laid on the floor beside the stalk, parallel to each other, edges aligned.

Order helped him think.

Joey leaned her shoulders against the bed, her hand working what seemed to be a steroidal Rubik’s Cube that she’d produced from her rucksack. She spun it with the speed and focus of a squirrel stripping a walnut.

Evan opened the lookout’s wallet. It contained four crisp hundred-dollar bills and nothing else. All the slots and crevices were empty. He set it back in its place.

Then he turned on the Samsung and checked the contacts. There were none. E-mail was empty, as was the trash folder. No recent calls. No voice mail.