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He checks the number.
UNKNOWN
He slides through the commands on the iPhone and puts it on speaker. The first thing out is a burst of static.
And then another.
Then four words from a familiar voice that rivets him to the chair.
“…Tom, it’s me. I’m…”
Then the call cuts off.
Amy.
Amy was trying to reach him, just as he was dealing with his dick boss.
Damn it!
He replays it three times, trying to gather what’s going on, how her voice is, her mood.
“…Tom, it’s me. I’m…”
Her voice is tired, flat, seems tense.
I’m what?
I’mokay?
I’mwounded?
I’ma prisoner somewhere?
Again he plays the message, gets no further answers.
His reporter’s instinct tells him what can be proven, nothing else.
All he knows is that Amy is alive, and that she tried to reach him. But because the number came in asUNKNOWN,he doesn’t know where she is.
That’s all.
Damn it.
Chapter38
JEREMY WINDSOR’Sseatmate hands back his iPhone, disappointed.
He asks, “No success?”
“Some,” she says. “Not a total failure, but I was able to leave a message on his voicemail before I lost coverage. At least he knows I’m alive.”
“And well,” Jeremy says.
“That still remains to be seen,” Amy replies.
The two of them are in the same Peugeot, being driven through the French countryside toward the setting sun on the two-lane D4 outside Paris. An identical car in front of them contains Victor and two of his staff; a third one behind them carries three armed men and the driver.
The silence is thick between them in the rear seat, until Jeremy says, “Lot of battles have been fought on this very land we’re passing through, during the First and Second World Wars. Hundreds of thousands of Frenchmen perished out here.”
