Max could not move. The hound reared up on its hind legs and placed paws the size of baseball mitts on Max’s shoulders. It looked down at him, its breath a series of hot blasts. Growling, it pressed its forehead hard against his and spoke to him:
“What are you about? Answer quick or I’ll gobble you up!”
When Max opened his eyes, he saw his father sitting at the foot of his bed. He was smiling, but he looked older and tired. Deep circles lined his eyes.
“You sleep just like you did as a little boy.”
Max blinked and propped himself up on his elbows.
“I had a bad dream.”
“Oh no!” exclaimed Mr. McDaniels in mock horror. “What about?”
“A big dog,” Max murmured sleepily, pushing his dark hair off his forehead.
“A big dog! Well, did he bite you or did you bite him?”
“Neither,” Max whispered.
His father patted his foot and stood up.
“Well, just remember—it’s not the size of the dog in the fight, but the size of the fight in the dog.”
Max sank back under the covers and wriggled toward the foot of the bed.
“I know, Dad. You’ve told me a hundred times.”
“So I have.” Mr. McDaniels chuckled. “Hop in the shower and get ready. Someone from the school is on your flight, and we’re supposed to meet him at the airport by eight.”
Max groaned as his father whisked the covers off the bed and drew the curtains to reveal a morning sky of peach and pale gold.
Nigel was waiting near the check-in, holding up a paper sign that read MCDANIELS and looking rather bored. The Recruiter was dressed neatly in a sport coat but had seen too much sun since his visit with Max. He stopped adjusting his glasses and extended his hand as the McDanielses approached.
“Hello there. You must be Mr. McDaniels—I’m Nigel Bristow from Rowan.”
“Call me Scott, Nigel,” said Mr. McDaniels, taking Nigel’s hand. “This is Max, your copilot for the day.”
“Hello, Max,” said Nigel brightly, giving a quick wink. “Thanks for coming along. Flying is such a bore without good company. We’re a bit pressed for time, eh? Let’s get you checked in.”
Once Nigel had taken Max’s duffel and stood in line, Mr. McDaniels gave Max a nudge. “Seems like a nice enough guy,” he said.
“Yeah,” said Max, puzzling over why Nigel would be holding up a sign with his name. Given all that had happened, Max thought his name and travel plans would be more of a secret.
Nigel called over to Max when it was their turn to check in. Max answered the lady’s questions and watched his bag disappear down the conveyor.
“Well, we’re all set,” said Nigel, clutching their tickets. “I’ll leave you a minute to say good-bye to your father,” Nigel said under his breath as the two made their way back to where Mr. McDaniels stood with his hands in his pockets. “I know this sounds cruel, but try to be quick. No tears. It’s important.”
Nigel said his farewells and promised to look after Max before joining the long line snaking toward security. Remembering what Nigel told him, Max avoided his father’s eyes. He flicked his fingers against his thumbs and looked straight ahead at Mr. McDaniels’s big yellow shirt.
“All right, Max. Here’s where I say good-bye.”
Max nodded.
“You’re just the best, you know. The best boy a father could ask for.”
Max felt his father’s arms wrap tightly around him. Max shut his eyes and promised to call and write and say prayers for his mother. When his father finally let him go, Max walked stiffly to where Nigel was waiting. He did not look back.
Nigel left Max to his own thoughts until they were through security.
“Well done,” he said at last. “I know that wasn’t easy.”
“Was that another test?” asked Max thickly.
“No,” said Nigel. “A precaution. This airport’s a very busy place today. We need to avoid anything too real.”
“What do you—”
Max cut his own question short as he saw a boy who looked very much like himself walking in the opposite direction. Max blinked. The boy did not just look like him—it looked exactly like him.
“Try not to stare,” said Nigel casually, increasing their pace a step. “They’re on our side.”
Max passed himself several more times. He noticed that the boys were always accompanied by one or two serious-looking adults.
“You must be tired,” said Nigel quietly as they finally took their seats on the crowded plane. “I bet you had no idea you’ve been taking over a dozen flights a day for the past three days….”
“But—”
Nigel held up a finger to quiet him.
“Agents. Decoys. We can talk more when we get to Rowan,” said Nigel, procuring a bar of chocolate and a deck of cards from his briefcase. “We’re not quite out of the woods.”
Max nibbled the chocolate and listened to the plane’s engines as Nigel dealt the cards.
Several hours later, the plane set down. Nigel led Max out of the plane, along the moving walkways, and down toward baggage claim.
Nigel had just swung his duffel off the carousel when Max saw someone step out suddenly from behind a nearby pillar.
It was the man from the train—the man with the dead white eye.
His coat was just as dirty and his eye just as unsettling as Max remembered. He stood as still as a stone between them and the exit while people filed past.
“He’s here,” Max whispered.
Nigel appeared not to hear as he fumbled with Max’s duffel.
“He’s here!” shouted Max, clutching Nigel’s arm.
Nigel shot him a puzzled glance before squinting past him.
His face went white.
The Recruiter immediately gripped Max by the collar and spun him around. Nigel marched him back up the stairs they had just descended. As they swam against a tide of startled faces, Max tried to look behind them, but there were too many people.
Nigel was speaking rapidly into a slim phone at his ear, but Max could not hear what was said. They crossed over to the next terminal, where Nigel hurried Max out the sliding doors and into a limousine that had screeched to a sudden halt at the curb.
The car sped onto the highway and made its way north while Nigel typed text messages into his phone, looking uncharacteristically grim. Over an hour passed in tense silence before they suddenly veered off the interstate and merged onto a smaller road. They were very near the coast; tall grasses swayed by the roadside as they wound their way past small farms and towns. Weathered signs advertised public beaches, fresh lobster, and clamming excursions. It all seemed very alien.
Nigel glanced out the back window. The road behind them had been empty for miles. Apparently satisfied, he pressed a button and rolled down the window. The warm summer air rushed in, fragrant and heavy with salt.
“How are you feeling?” he asked, his serious expression softening to a smile.
“I’m fine now. It was him, you know—that man at the airport. He’s the one who was following me at the museum.”
“Yes, I know. He matched your description perfectly. It was a nasty shock, no question about it. But mission accomplished: here you are, safe and sound!”
Max took a deep breath; it seemed the first real breath he’d taken since the airport.
“Nigel, my dad’s okay, isn’t he? They won’t bother him now that I’m here…?”
“He’ll be fine, Max,” Nigel said sympathetically. “You’re the one they want.”
Nigel looked past Max and pointed at something out the window. Max turned in time to glimpse an old wooden sign:
WELCOME TO ROWAN TOWNSHIP, EST. 1649