Eddie glanced out the window, but couldn’t see much. Silhouettes of apartment buildings and factories and gas stations and junkyards. A never-ending blur of streetlights and park lights and brake lights. It was not enough detail to give him any idea where along the route they were.
Skylar must have fallen asleep a while ago. She looked so peaceful. He was about to say her name when he stopped himself. And just watched her. Listening to her breathe. Eddie matched his breathing to hers, inhaling and exhaling at exactly the same pace. Then slowly reached out to touch his finger to her skin. He wanted human contact. Maybe only a fingertip’s worth, but it was still a giant leap.
Skylar suddenly jolted awake, which made Eddie jump, too. “Sorry, I must have fallen asleep.”
Eddie immediately pulled his finger back, pretending to scratch his forearm. “Why are you sorry?”
“I tried to stay awake.”
“You were tired.”
She nodded, glancing at his laptop supercomputer to see that it was turned off. She was about to ask him what he’d been working on, when the train lurched forward, slowing noticeably.
Eddie was worried. “What happened? Did the train come off the tracks?”
She checked her watch. It was 12:33, which meant they were just about to pull into 30th Street Station. “We’re almost there.”
Eddie looked confused. “Almost where?”
“To 30th Street Station.”
“We’re in Philadelphia?!”
She paused a long moment before saying, “Yes, Eddie. Welcome home.”
CHAPTER 90
Harmony House, Woodbury, New Jersey, May 28, 12:42 a.m.
Michael Barnes was now certain that a third party had entered the game. Or, rather, a third party who had always been in the game, watching in silence, lurking in the shadows, had decided to reveal itself by entering the field of play. There was no other possible explanation for the sudden disappearance of his two-man team sent to Gloria Pruitt’s residence. Barnes had ruled out every other possibility. Someone knew they were coming. Which could only mean Barnes’s communications had been compromised. My God, for how long?
Barnes was impressed. Such a move required patience. Discipline. Resources. And experience. Which meant whoever had caused the disappearance of his team was a formidable adversary. Perhaps, even, an unbeatable one. But Barnes had been in unwinnable situations before. It had been decades since he’d faced such a daunting challenge, but he was confident he still had the chops.
There was, however, one critical difference. In those earlier situations, all of which had occurred outside US borders, there was no walking away. Failure meant death. That was not the case today. He could just walk away. Disappear. It was an option he’d prepared for years ago. While Michael Barnes was indeed fiercely loyal to Marcus Fenton, he was not willing to rot in a cell for him. If the ship was sinking, Barnes would jump and jump fast, and never look back.
But this ship wasn’t sinking just yet.
The irate calls from his boss were the least of Michael Barnes’s concerns. So what if the venerable doctor had been humiliated at the hands of a New York City Police detective? All Butler McHenry had done was confirm one very crucial piece of information: the echo box was now working. Acoustic archeology was real. The detective had played a recording for Dr. Fenton. Which explained why the third party had stepped out of the shadows.
The two questions burning in Barnes’s mind were: Where was the echo box currently, and what did the nurse have to do with Edward Parks and his device?
As to the first matter, Lutz and Hirsch had never lost visual contact with Homeland Security Agent Harold Raines. Barnes’s team had done exactly as they were instructed, maintaining a safe distance from the subject. Barnes had expected them to report that Raines was returning to the Sixth Precinct to gain possession of the device. Instead, Michael Barnes was informed that Agent Raines had returned to the Homeland regional office at 633 Third Avenue. Which could only mean one thing: Homeland was giving up the chase, at least in New York. Edward Parks and Skylar Drummond were no longer in the city. They had gotten away. When Lutz and Hirsch asked what they should do, Barnes ordered them back to Harmony House.
As to the second matter, regarding the nurse, the previously unknown party would have only protected her because she had value to them. They wanted her to continue working for them. They wanted to maintain the status quo. Their status quo. Which couldn’t possibly include someone who had just tried to have her killed. Michael Barnes could almost see the bull’s-eye materializing on his forehead as he stared at his own reflection in his computer screen. They would be coming after him, and when he least expected it.
Barnes was surprised at how quickly he reached his decision. Perhaps it was the wisdom that comes with age. Or that deep down, he doubted that he truly still had what it took. Whichever the case, after nearly two decades of loyal and dutiful service to Dr. Marcus Fenton and Harmony House, Barnes simply got up and left his office. He didn’t take a single personal item with him. Not a photo. Not a pencil. Not even one of the many stomach remedies he always kept on hand. He exited the building, walked across the parking lot, got in his beige Impala, and drove off the grounds of Harmony House without so much as a word.
The only things he would be taking with him on his journey were contained in two thirty-six-cubic-foot, vacuum-sealed aluminum storage lockers buried side by side beneath a wooden toolshed in his backyard. Because that was the plan. He’d carefully stocked the lockers years ago. The metal boxes held everything he’d need to live on for years in any number of environments. Michael Barnes was going off the grid. He just needed to get his carefully packed supplies, and he would be gone. Pffft! The world would never see him again.
Unless he wanted it to.
CHAPTER 91
30th Street Station, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, May 28, 12:45 a.m.
Eddie was once again wearing his baseball jersey as he and Skylar walked through 30th Street Station with the other Mets fans. Some people in the distance booed, which wasn’t entirely unexpected. New Yorkers would have greeted arriving Phillies fans similarly. Skylar took note of several Philadelphia police officers gathered in the main concourse. There was a notable lack of urgency about them. It was clear they had not been put on tactical alert for two federal fugitives in possession of stolen classified technology. Not yet, anyway. But Skylar veered away from them, just to be safe.
“Are we still playing tag?” Eddie asked.
“Yes, we are.”
“Do we have to?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“Why are you afraid so?”
“Because they’re still playing.” She nodded toward the police officers.
Eddie paused. “I don’t ever want to play this kind of game again.”
“I don’t, either.” She smiled at him as they made their way out of the building with the flow of Mets navy blue and orange. They moved down the sidewalk toward a line of cabs, where a man with dreadlocks, wearing a bright-orange vest, was coordinating who got into which cab.
Skylar turned to Eddie and asked, “Would you be okay taking cab ride number twenty-nine?”
Eddie studied the line of cabs, along with their license-plate numbers. “Twenty-nine is a prime number. I like prime numbers, because they can’t be divided by anything but themselves. Do you like prime numbers?”
“Love them.” She answered playfully, knowing what his reaction would be.
He made his BUZZER sound.
“Will you take cab ride number twenty-nine because it’s a prime number?”
“No, I will because you asked.” He smiled at her briefly.
The man in the vest pointed them toward the cab at the front of the line. Skylar moved toward it, opening the door for Eddie to get in, only to discover that he had moved to the cab behind it. “He wants us to ride in this one, Eddie.”
“I don’t want to ride in that one.” He pointed to the cab behind it in line. “I want to ride in this one.”
“Do you mind telling me why?”