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Giuseppe's voice joined him, the gruff exterior replaced by a surprising gentleness. "You're stronger than you think. Call him back and set up that meeting. I assure you, Courtney you’re in good hands.”
Taking a shaky breath, I picked up the phone again. My fingers trembled slightly as I dialed Tyree's number once more.
When Tyree's voice crackled through the line, his immediate concern about our dropped conversation punched through the static. Swiftly, I reassured him, tossing in a breezy apology and piling the blame on a pesky signal. His chuckle rumbled through the speaker, signaling he was buying the flimsy excuse, and we were back in the game, our conversational dance resuming.
Diving straight into logistics, Clint began sketching out a flight plan for me from Bangor to Seattle. A spark of panic ignited within me, threatening to bloom into a full-blown wildfire. Drawing in a long, steadying breath, I wrestled to keep a rein on the tremor lurking at the edges of my voice.
"Mr. Tyree," I started, pressing my words through gritted teeth, "I'm a little in the dark about my father's plans. Bangor might not be in the cards when the time for our rendezvous swings around." My voice wobbled on the last few syllables, despite my desperate attempts to keep it steady.
Tyree's surprised pause was a mere heartbeat, but it felt like an eternity. When he returned, his voice had taken on an edge of eagerness that was more pronounced than before. It was as if my uncertainty had fanned his intrigue, making him more determined to turn the situation to his advantage.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Downing. His face, normally composed, was creased with frustration as he ran a hand through his hair, his gaze fixated on the multitude of screens that adorned his workspace. His motions were frantic and disjointed, not at all like the calm, collected agent I had come to know.
My breath hitched. Something was going wrong.
From my peripheral vision, I could see Brad and Giuseppe, their faces reflecting a similar level of concern. Their eyes were fixed on me, their gazes heavy with unspoken fears.
Suddenly, Downing began making exaggerated motions, pointing to the phone and then back to himself. The message was clear: keep talking. Keep Tyree on the line.
It took me a moment to understand why, but when I did, I swallowed hard. Downing was having trouble tracing the call.
Time seemed to slow down. I could feel my pulse quickening, hearing the blood rushing in my ears. We were running out of time, and I had to keep Tyree engaged until Downing gave the signal. We had one chance at this, and I couldn't afford to mess it up.
With that realization, I lifted the phone back to my ear, praying that my voice wouldn't betray the fear that was threatening to consume me. My eyes flickered to Brad and Giuseppe, finding a glimmer of reassurance in their solemn nods of encouragement.
"I'm sorry about that, Mr. Tyree," I said, forcing a lighthearted chuckle into my voice. "I'm in the middle of nowhere. The signal's terrible. I hope I didn't keep you waiting."
While Downing was engrossed in working on his screens, he looked at me and gave a brief nod. This was not an indication of success but rather a gesture to continue. For a moment, his confidence seemed to waver, but he swiftly regained his composure, his eagerness even more pronounced than before. I drew in a fortifying breath, bracing myself for the unfolding dialogue. It was undeniable now—we were only at the starting line of this perilous game.
"No, not at all," Tyree responded, his tone was almost jovial, but it did nothing to dispel the unease eating at me. "Courtney, it's been a while since we last talked. What have you been doing since you left Rosedale Tech?"
His question struck me like a bullet, causing my heart to skip a beat. What was I supposed to say? I couldn't tell him I was assisting the FBI. Downing's desperate signals from the corner of my eye only added to my rising panic.
"Uh..." I stammered, scrambling for a plausible story. "I... I've been traveling a bit, trying to, um...explore different opportunities." My voice sounded high-pitched and shaky to my own ears. Downing was still frowning at his screens, motioning for me to keep Clint talking. I swallowed hard again, feeling my throat constrict with anxiety. This was getting dangerous.
My hands tightened around the phone as I listened to Tyree's response, each word sending tremors of anxiety through me.
"Traveling? That's interesting. Anywhere in particular?" he asked, sounding genuinely interested. His casual demeanor was almost disconcerting, contrasting sharply with the rising tension in the room.
I hesitated, wracking my brain for a response that would seem convincing. "Oh, around Europe mostly. You know, the usual places. Paris, Rome...Amsterdam," I added, recalling a friend who had recently visited the Netherlands.
Just as I finished speaking, I saw Downing finally raise his thumb, his face lighting up with a triumphant smile. Relief flooded through me, almost making me dizzy. Downing had done it. He'd traced the call.
"I'll have to call you back when I have a better idea of my father's plans, Mr. Tyree," I told him, struggling to keep my voice steady. "But Seattle sounds like an exciting opportunity. I look forward to discussing it more."
Tyree seemed satisfied with this response, a hint of anticipation in his voice. "I look forward to hearing from you, Courtney. Safe travels."
With that, he hung up, leaving me sitting in the quiet booth, the tension from the past few minutes still clinging to me. I looked up to see Brad and Giuseppe grinning broadly at me, their faces a reflection of Downing's triumphant smile. I'd done it. We'd gotten through the first hurdle.
I hung up the phone, the room suddenly feeling a lot brighter. For the first time in what felt like forever, I took a deep, full breath.
Stepping out of the booth, I found the air outside to be fresh, a welcome change from the suffocating tension inside. Downing was waiting, offering me a bottle of water from the small fridge by his desk. I accepted it with a grateful nod, the cool liquid soothing my parched throat.
"We need to determine Tyree's exact location," Downing stated, his voice filled with authority. "Knowing where he is calling from may have a bearing on our next steps, setting up the actual meeting between you two."
We huddled around Downing, watching him closely as his fingers flew over the keyboard, his eyes flicking between the various screens he had set up. The room was silent except for the hum of electronics and the low murmur of Downing's mutterings.
Minutes passed. Then, finally, Downing sat back in his chair, his eyes wide. "He's not in Seattle," he said, turning to face us. "He's in San Jose. Silicon Valley, to be precise."
