Children of Paranoia (9 page)

Jared shook his head. “Well, I guarantee you that they've got more than a scuba knife. They're on a hunting expedition. You go looking for elephants, you bring an elephant gun.”

“Jared's right,” I finally chimed in. It's not what I wanted to say. If I was going to go down, I didn't want to have to do it alone, but Jared was right. The smart move here was to split up and run. Get out of the restaurant, off the island, and as far away as we possibly could. It was becoming clear to me that vacationing so close to our last hits was a mistake. There was no reason to make another one.

“Fine. Let's pick a meeting point, though,” Michael conceded. “We need to check in with each other once we've all escaped.”

“We'll meet at the Borgata in Atlantic City,” Jared said. “If we can get off the island, we can get to AC. Meet at the hundred-dollar blackjack tables at three A.M. Anybody doesn't make it by then, we leave without them. There's only one way off this island. If we're not off by then, it probably means we're not getting off.”

“Okay,” I said. “Jared leaves first. You get up go to the bathroom and keep going. They're unlikely to get suspicious until the second person leaves. That'll buy you time to figure out how to get us out of Jersey and as far away from here as possible.” Jared nodded. It was almost imperceptible.

“See you guys at three A.M.,” he said. With that, without another word, Jared got up, looked me in the eyes for a second, and walked toward the men's room. His eyes were steel. There was no doubt in them. After about two minutes a young guy with dark hair got up from the bar to go to the bathroom.

“There it is,” Michael said. “The dark-haired guy there is the fourth. He's going to check on Jared. I think that's all of them.” Michael looked at me. “What now?” I knew what he meant. He meant, now that Jared is gone, what's the plan? Running just wasn't Michael's style. He wasn't going to do it unless I told him to.

“I don't know,” I said, trying to devise a plan in my head. Jared was the planner. Jared was gone. “We've got to move before the dark-haired guy gets back from the john and lets the rest of them know that Jared isn't in there. We've got to go together or the second person to leave is a sitting duck. And we can't just walk out of this place.”

“It's like the end of
Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid.
” Michael smiled. I don't know how he did it. Michael had something I never had. “I know what to do. Once we get outside, I'm going left and you go right. But until we get out the front door, follow my lead.” I nodded, relieved that Michael was taking the reins. Michael stood up and started walking toward Catherine. I had no idea what he had planned, but I followed him.

“Hey,” Michael called out to Catherine before he even reached the bar. “Aren't you the woman who walked out on my friend last night?” He walked right up to her and put his left arm around her waist. “My buddy here's been busted up about it all day.” They weren't expecting this. Catherine shot a frightened glance at the gray-haired guy at the other end of the bar. I kept looking toward the bathroom to see when the dark-haired agent would come back.

Catherine tried to keep her cool. She was trying to buy them a second or two to figure out what to do. “Your friend didn't seem that interested last night. Something seemed to get under his collar. Perhaps you'd be up for some fun instead?” Her accent was even thicker than it had been the night before.

“My friend?” Michael asked. Just then I saw the guy with the dark hair coming back from the bathroom. He was walking quickly. What little cover we had left was just about to be blown. I signaled to Michael by giving him a quick nod. “You must be mistaken, baby,” he said to Catherine. “My friend's as cool as they come.” With that Michael grabbed a beer bottle off the bar and smashed it as hard as he could into Catherine's face. Michael's move was quick and unexpected. I heard a crunch as Catherine's nose collapsed and saw blood shoot out from beneath the beer bottle. Beer bottles don't break when they hit people's heads like they do in the movies. In real life, beer bottles are stronger than most people's skulls. You might as well be hitting someone in the head with a baseball bat. Catherine dropped instantly to the floor. Michael and I ran. In seconds, the two of us were out on the street, running. I went right. Michael went left. Michael's little plan worked perfectly. His attack had accomplished two things. First, it created a diversion. There was enough of a ruckus in the restaurant to buy us a couple moments' head start. Second, it brought their numbers down from four to three. I looked back once after I started running to see if anyone had made it out of the bar yet. The only person that I recognized was Michael, hightailing it in the other direction. He never looked back. One of the waiters from the restaurant ran out in the street and shouted, “Stop them!” but his shout simply added to the chaos. All these people, the regular people, were on vacation. They weren't prepared to play hero. One down, I thought as I ran. Michael had just improved our odds of making it out of this alive.

I knew that the commotion back at the restaurant would only buy us a minute or two. The people who were after us were professionals. Their movements were coordinated. They knew what they were doing. I just wanted to create as much distance between the restaurant and me as possible, so I ran as fast as I could. The island thinned out at its ends. I was close enough to the southern tip of the island that the road I was on simply ended, running straight into the bay. I had to make a left turn and head toward the one road in the middle of the island that kept going south. When I did, I took a second glance back at the scene. I was already over a half mile from the restaurant. Night had fallen. The sky was moonless and the part of the island I was on had grown almost completely dark except for the light on the top of the Ferris wheel. Looking back, the light from the restaurant illuminated the street enough that I could make out a crowd of people milling about the outside. It was utter confusion. I didn't slow my pace as I turned the corner, giving me only a split second to survey the chaos. That split second was enough time for me to see the dark-haired agent, framed by the mass of people behind him, running after me at full speed. He was already only about a quarter of a mile behind me and he was gaining on me.

Once I turned the corner and I knew that I was out of his view, I began looking around for anything that I could use to aid my escape. If the dark-haired agent knew where I was, then there was little question that his friends would know soon too. Up ahead, I spotted a small red bicycle with a basket attached to the front leaning against one of the little houses that lined the road. I reached for it, swung it into the street, threw my legs over the seat, and began to pedal as fast as I could. There was no way that he was going to catch me on foot now. Still, his friends were sure to have a car, so I needed to find a place to hide, and fast.

As I pedaled, the streets grew even darker. The blackness was only intermittently broken up by a random porch light. As the island grew darker it also grew quieter. I was nearing its end where the road just stops. In front of me was the long sandy southern tip of the island. On one side was the ocean; on the other was the bay. There was nothing in between but sand. The farther along you moved the thinner the beach became until there was no sand left and the bay and the ocean became one. I had no time to look back; looking back could get me killed. I just moved forward. I didn't think. It would have been safer to duck into one the houses, to hide where there were other people. But I wasn't thinking. I was just trying to move and I was moving straight into a dead end where there would be no place for me to hide. Suddenly, out of the darkness, I began to hear the loud revving of a car engine. It was moving fast. It was the only sound that I could hear other than the sound of the crashing waves. I heard the car skid around a turn and knew that it wouldn't be long before they could see me. I just kept pedaling. There was a gate at the end of the road and some Do Not Enter signs. I ditched the bike and jumped over the gate and ran again.

In seconds, I was surrounded on all sides by white sand. I could see the bay on my right side and could hear the waves from the ocean on my left. I took a turn and started running toward the ocean. I thought the sound of the waves might cover the sound of my breathing. The ocean was as black as oil, reflecting back the moonless sky. Looking out into the water, the only lights I could see were the tiny lights of fishing boats drifting miles out over the water. As I neared the edge of the water, the rumbling of the waves got louder. It was high tide and the water here was rougher than anywhere else on the island. I was getting tired but I knew that I'd be caught soon if I slowed down or if I didn't find a place to hide. Only seconds later I heard the roar of the car engine again, skidding to a stop at the end of the road. They were right behind me. I only had a moment to hide or I was as good as dead. My eyes scanned the beach but it was empty. There were a few dunes and some dune grass but nowhere to hide. I looked back again at the pitch black water. The ocean was my only chance. I broke into a run toward the water. I didn't have time to ditch my shirt or my sandals. I simply dove forward as soon as I felt the water brush against my toes. I dove straight into a wave. It tried to push me back but I pulled myself forward through the water. Then I swam. My sandals were lost within the first four strokes. I knew that I could only afford a few full strokes before Catherine's friends made it to the beach. I'd have to stop swimming or they'd see me. Then my only hope would be to quietly drift out to sea.

I took about twelve full strokes, putting a good hundred yards between me and the beach. Then I stopped. I floated in choppy seas, bouncing up and down on the waves. I had gotten out past the breakers so that the waves were breaking between me and the shore. I turned to see if they had made it to the beach yet. Who were these people? I sank down deep into the water, floating with just my eyes and my nose exposed, just enough to see and breathe. The water here was deep. I let my feet dangle straight below me and wasn't able to touch the bottom.

I had stopped swimming just in time. As I turned, I saw the first of them step out of the darkness. It was the dark-haired agent, followed quickly by the cabbie and the guy with the gray hair. They hadn't left anyone behind with Catherine. Nobody chased Michael. I was glad for him. They all carried flashlights. The light from their flashlights made it easier for me to identify each of them on the dark beach. They immediately spread out, shining the flashlights over every sand dune to see if I was cowering behind one. It only took them seconds to realize that I wasn't on the beach. I stayed as still in the water as possible. I could make out from their movements that the guy with the gray hair was the leader. Each of the other two would move to a different part of the beach and then report back to him, letting him know that they hadn't found anything. I watched each flashlight as it danced along the beach. The guy with the gray hair simply stood there, trying to assess the situation.

Then I saw the cabbie walk to the edge of the water and bend down to get a closer look at something. I was too low in the water to see what he had found. After a moment of investigation, he hurried back to the leader. I couldn't hear a thing over the crashing of the waves. All I could do was watch them and try to figure out what they were saying.

The cabbie was now holding something in each of his hands, carrying his flashlight under his armpit. The leader moved the beam of his flashlight toward the item. The cabbie was carrying my sandals. They had washed back up on shore. The leader wasted no time.

“He's in the water,” he yelled. I could hear him shouting over the crashing waves. He wanted me to hear him. He wanted me to know that they were onto me. He immediately began moving the beam of his flashlight over the top of the water. As it neared me, I dove down beneath the surface. I must have been in at least fifteen feet of water because even after I dove down, I couldn't touch the bottom. I kept my eyes open under the water. The salt stung but I needed to see. I didn't dare close my eyes. I knew that the water would be dark, but I didn't realize how dark. I felt like I was floating in space, surrounded by nothingness. All I could see around me and below me was darkness. When peering up toward the surface of the water, I thought that I could make out the refraction of the light from the flashlights as they scanned the surface of the water but I wasn't sure. I had to come up for breath but I had to stay hidden. I waited for a wave to pass. The wave would be my shield. I'd come up for air behind it. I felt a wave move past me like a ghost and then I surfaced quickly, took a another deep breath of air, and resubmerged.

I just floated there, motionless in the darkness. I couldn't see anything but I could hear strange sounds erupting from the black water. There was a constant ringing in my ears, which I assumed was just my ears adjusting to the water pressure. Over the ringing, however, I could hear the sound of the sand moving along the ocean floor with the currents. It sounded like sandpaper rubbing against wood. I could hear the waves breaking along the beach, like thunder in the distance. Then there were other sounds that I didn't recognize, sounds of thumping or thrashing in the darkness not too far away from me. I felt like I was trapped in a nightmare. I tried to ignore the sounds. I tried to keep my eyes on the light moving along the surface of the water so that I could time my breaths. I didn't want to gasp for air when I came up for fear that they might hear me. I waited for another wave that could protect me. Again, I felt it blow by me in the water. I lifted barely more than my mouth out of the water, took another deep breath of air, and sank back down into the abyss.