The Wrong Hostage

49

ALL SAINTS SCHOOL

MONDAY, 1:00 A.M.

CIGARETTE SMOKE CAME INTO Lane’s room through open windows, along with gusts of warm, humid air from the storm that was inching closer to shore.

That’s why I’m sweating.

Heat, not fear.

But his sweat was cold.

In the spaces between the cry of wind and waves, men’s voices came from outside along with more smells of burning nicotine and something else, something Lane couldn’t identify. If one guard wasn’t smoking, the other was.

They were less than six feet from Lane’s bed.

If Mom calls now, Lane thought frantically, they’ll know.

Yet there was nothing Lane wanted or needed more than to hear his mother’s voice and know that he wasn’t truly alone.

The satellite phone beneath his pillow vibrated. Instantly he blocked any view from the window by diving under the sheet. He pushed the connect button.

And said nothing.

“It’s Faroe,” a man’s voice said softly. “If you can hear me but can’t answer, blow into the microphone. Once for yes.”

Lane’s breath sighed over the receiver.

At the other end of the line, Faroe’s heart kicked with relief. “Good. Are you okay?”

Lane breathed into the phone again. Once.

“Is there anyone in the room with you?” Faroe asked.

Lane blew twice into the phone, then whispered, “Wait.”

“As long as you want,” Faroe said.

Sweating, Lane lay beneath the sheet, holding the phone until his hand ached from the pressure.

The guards’ voices faded as they went on another tour of the cottage’s perimeter.

“Okay,” Lane said softly. “They’re gone. It usually takes them a couple of minutes to get back to the window.”

“Has anything changed since we were there?” Faroe asked quickly.

“No,” Lane said, keeping his voice so low it barely transmitted. “Father Rafael came to see me. He said he thought things would be okay. Do I trust him or not?”

“Until we find out a little more, treat him as an unknown quantity,” Faroe said. “But if things come unstuck, use your own judgment. He might be the best option you have. Do you understand?”

“Yeah,” Lane said. “Is Mom there with you?” The question was tentative.

“She’s here,” Faroe said carefully. He didn’t want the boy falling apart on the phone. Or Grace.

“Good,” Lane said. “I just didn’t want her to be alone right now. She worries a lot.”

Faroe smiled even though his throat ached. “Do you have access to a file called ‘the Plaza’ on your hard drive?”

“That’s Dad’s file,” Lane said, his voice suddenly cautious. “He trusted me with it.”

It was about the only way Lane had connected with his father in years-showing him how to use the computer.

“I know,” Faroe said. “He told us about it.”

“You saw Dad?” With an effort, Lane kept his voice low. “Tonight? Is he coming to get me before”-Hector kills me-“the deadline?”

Faroe wondered how Lane had found out, then decided it didn’t matter. What mattered was keeping Lane from panicking.

“Ted showed up in Lomas Santa Fe, at the ranch,” Faroe said carefully. “He wanted your computer. He wanted the Plaza file.”

Lane listened for the guards, heard only the wind and waves. “So?”

Sitting in the SUV, Faroe wondered what to say. How do you explain to a kid what a self-serving piece of shit his father is?

“I don’t have enough time to explain it to you,” Faroe said evenly. “Can you trust me on this or do you want to hear it from your mother?”

Before Lane could answer, Grace leaned forward and said, “Tell Joe everything you can. Please. It’s our only way to help you.”

Back at the cottage, the strain in Grace’s voice made Lane’s eyes tear. He swallowed hard. “Okay.”

“Is it a big file?” Faroe asked.

“No, but it’s encrypted.”

“How?”

“Do you know what PGP is?”

“Pretty Good Privacy,” Faroe said.

“Yeah. I taught him how to do it. He’s got the key. I don’t.”

Shit. But all Faroe said was “So you can’t read it.”

Lane closed his eyes and sweated cold. His mother’s voice had told him more than her words. “Please don’t be mad. It’s Dad’s file. He asked me to keep it for him, to make sure nothing happened to it.”

“And now I’m asking you to break that confidence,” Faroe said.

“I don’t know what’s right. If it’s Dad’s, if he needs it…”

Faroe cursed silently but didn’t lean on Lane. Nor did he ask for Grace to take over. Lane was having a tough enough time surviving without being caught in a tug-of-war between his parents.

“I respect what you’re saying,” Faroe said softly, “but until I know exactly what’s in the file, I can’t tell you what’s at stake. All I know is that file is the only leverage we have to get you out of All Saints.”

“What about Dad? Isn’t he coming for me?”

“I’m sorry.”

Faroe listened to the silence for what seemed like an eternity.

Finally Lane drew a shaky breath, then another one. The third time his breath didn’t break. “So it’s betray Dad or die? Is that what you’re saying?”

“I’m saying that your father never should have put that file on his son’s computer. He never should have signed his son into All Saints. He never should have touched Hector Rivas Osuna’s dirty business.”

Lane’s eyes widened. He knew who Hector was.

Everyone in northern Mexico knew who Hector was.

“Are you saying D-Dad is a crook?” Lane asked, his voice barely a whisper.

“I believe so,” Faroe said, “but I can’t prove it until I see that file. Is there enough charge on the satellite phone to send the file to your mother?”

“No. I’ll decrypt it. Then…well, then…” I’ll know something I don’t want to know.

But not knowing meant that he would die in less than twelve hours.

“Lane?” Faroe asked.

Lane grabbed what he did know and held on to it like a rope tossed to him across muddy floodwaters. “PGP is an old commercial program. It’s good enough but not great. I’ve got a couple sample keys and a hacker friend told me about a trapdoor in the program. I might be able to squeeze through it.”

Faroe drew a deep breath. “Can you do that with what you have at the school?”

“Sure. All I need is time.”

“What about the guards?”

“The Chicharrones Brigade already think I’m hiding under the sheet playing with myself. They laugh about it.”

Faroe bit back raw words of frustration. “Go for it, son. How’s the charge on the phone?”

There was a muffled sound before Lane said, “About a quarter.”

“Shut it down. Save it for another call in four hours. Unless your situation changes radically-then you call right away. Want a quick word with your mom?”

“Just-tell her I love her. If I hear her voice I’ll-”

“Okay, I understand. She sends her love. So does your dad.”

“Then why doesn’t he come get me?”

He’s too busy saving his own ass.

But all Faroe said was “Be careful.”

Lane punched the end button, shut down the phone, and hid it under the pillow again.

Voices drifted in through the window. The guards were laughing and talking about the bets that had been placed on how Hector would kill Lane.

So far no one had put money on simple execution.