Expiration Date (27 page)

Indeed, the Brotherhood of Tobolsk had nearly become a relic of the past; without a burst of fresh wind, their coals might have burned out completely.

We have risen again. Da. A new Tsar shall ascend
.

Dmitri liked to imagine he could feel such wind—whispering over his face, assuring him of his place and purpose, nudging him along the correct course.

The flapping of angel’s wings.

Straight ahead in Founder’s Park, he saw Kenny Preston. Of course he had no guarantee this was the same boy, but he knew it in his bones.

The angel had guided him.

Dmitri watched the child dismount a bike and face a woman with a squirming puppy in her arms. In the darkness they exchanged words. The woman lifted a hand at an awkward angle, and the boy’s eyes bulged in horror. Behind the iron fence, Engine 418 stood in silent witness, a ghost eavesdropping over the small boy’s shoulders.

“Please don’t hurt her.”

Kenny hated to give in. If he were a real man, he wouldn’t let his voice get shaky like this. But what could he do? This woman, the same one who’d given him the note to deliver last week, had a syringe poked at the scruff of Gussy’s neck. Between strands of puppy fur, the silver needle glinted.

Oblivious, Gussy wriggled, but she was small and easily contained.

“We know you found it,” the woman told Kenny. “Now take us to it.”

“What’re you—”

“Don’t waste time. You know what I’m talking about, the thing from the train.”

“Promise you won’t do anything to Gussy?”

“Now isn’t that a darling name.” The woman’s thumb stroked Gussy’s neck.

“Gimme five minutes, and I’ll bring it straight back.”

“Nice try, kid. I have a daughter, so I’m more than aware of how your scheming minds work. See the liquid in this syringe? It’s a stimulant, designed to reawaken a larger animal after it’s been sedated. A lion maybe. Or a rhinoceros. Administered to little Gussy, it’d be like a drug overdose, quick and deadly, frying her little brain.”

“What do you want then?”

“I want you to take me to it, your stolen treasure. When it’s in my hands, you’ll get Gussy back.”

“That’s it?”

She nodded. “Is it close enough to walk?”

“Uh-uh. It’s actually … It’s a long walk from here. I didn’t want anyone finding it.”

The syringe pried at Gussy’s loose skin, lifting brown fur.

“Okay,” he said. “I’ll take you. But can I ride my bike?”

“On foot is better, don’t you think? Let’s go. You lead the way.”

Kenny stared up from under the rim of his helmet. This morning he’d overfilled his cup with excitement. Now, without Clay around, Gussy’s survival seemed more important than some old wooden tube and a stone chess piece. What’d it matter if he handed them over?

“Fine, lady, have it your way. Just leave my dog alone.”

Kenny saw Clay’s car creep around the corner of Sixth and Holly. Yes! He had hoped Clay would track him down, but he couldn’t let Gussy’s captor catch on.

“Stay back,” he wanted to shout. “Don’t let her see you.”

He ambled across the grass, but his eyes roved the area. On the opposing corner, a white Taurus was pointed this direction, and a large man was getting out. With the blond woman a half step behind, Kenny walked in the direction of the easterly railroad. He’d string her along, then throw her off track.

If he could just figure a way to free Gussy from her grip.

“Kenny Preston.”

Spoken in an accent, his name reached across the park to him.

“Kenny.”

In midstep, he glanced back to find the man from the Taurus heading his way. Arms bulged under the dude’s jacket, and his neck spread down into his shoulders. His hand was a baseball mitt, dwarfing a silver cell phone. He was speeding up.

“You are Kenny Preston? I must speak with you.”

Kenny flinched. The blond woman turned, annoyed by the interruption, and she, too, gave a nervous blink. At Gussy’s neck, the needle pulled away a fraction.

Now! Be strong and courageous!

In a single motion, Kenny grabbed for his puppy with one hand and jabbed away the syringe with the other. The lady snapped around. In her haste
her fingernails dug into Gussy’s underbelly, and the puppy yelped. Small teeth flashed as Gussy’s blunt head whipped around and clamped jaws into vulnerable flesh.

The woman cried out.

The syringe bounced off the curb, and Kenny saw a beaded strand of pale yellow liquid drape through the air. He heard Gussy’s teeth tear at the woman’s blouse. Another cry. His puppy landed on the sidewalk in a knot of legs and fur, gathered herself, and sped off across the street.

Kenny chased after her. A protective response. A mindless act.

From the corner of his eye, he noted a black shape, headlights, and spinning wheels. Brakes shrieked. He accelerated, felt the concussion of air as a Ford Mustang skidded sideways and ground along the curb. The door popped open. A black woman stepped out on high heels.

Appearing stunned, the blond woman was glaring at Kenny over the car roof. Farther back, the dude with bulging arms was jogging forward.

“Whatcha all doin’!” the Mustang’s driver yelled. “ ’Bout ran over you, you hear what I’m sayin’? Buncha crazy white folk tryin’ to get their selves killed.”

Kenny had seen enough. Or not enough.

Gussy was gone.

He took off, his mind loaded with questions and options and a list of changing priorities. His mother had been drilling into his head that he had to choose what things were most important and deal with them in that order. But how could he prioritize his own safety, his puppy’s whereabouts, and the growing number of people who seemed drawn by his secret that lay hidden in the drainage pipe?

His feet slapped the road. He cut down an alley, eyes probing the darkness, every gap and doorway, for his pet. Maybe Gussy was safer somewhere else.

Just stay hidden, little girl. I’ll come back for you
.

He veered right, back toward the tracks. Shouts chased him along.

Jesus, where do I go? I’m freakin’ here!

Behind him another car was coming. He leaned into the storefronts, avoiding the curb and any likelihood of being run over.

Briefly he was out in the open, thudding up the berm to the railroad. Far away the nightly high-speed train whistled. At his back a car horn blared.

Kenny went into high gear, determined to outdistance and outmaneuver his enemies. The spymaster recognized this was no ordinary danger. Vital supplies lay hidden, threatened by Nazi infiltrators and turncoats. His tennis shoes loosened as they ate through weeds and chunks of cracked asphalt. He had reached the tall weeds at the ditch’s edge. His laces were coming undone—not that it mattered. This was it. The spymaster was back at the safe house.

The drainpipe was a dark cavern, waiting to hide him. The grass flattened ahead of his flying feet, but his shoes lost their purchase. He landed, bumped down the incline on his backside. Throwing himself forward, he crawled into the pipe, and his helmet bumped the metal. Stones chewed at his knees. He pulled himself deeper into the darkness.

The pipe shivered with the weight of a car overhead. Dirt and dust trickled down. Kenny held his breath. Who was up above?

Never mind, Spymaster. Get the treasure. Lives’re depending on you
.

Yet this was no childhood game. This was different. What if he did have enemies intent on his destruction? Didn’t the Bible warn that Satan was “looking for some victim to devour”? Earlier, had that Rottweiler been turned loose on purpose?

You’re my protection, Lord. Isn’t that right? My high tower
.

The tower … 
Hey
, he realized,
that might work
.

He could race back to the JC water tower, spy down on his enemies, and stay out of sight. Looking for a kid, they’d never think to look up. Yeah, he liked it. He could run in a crouch down the ditch for part of the distance, then hop back over the tracks. He’d do it at the last second, letting the passing train cut off any pursuers.

“Kenny, you down there? Hurry, they’re headed this way.”

“Clay?”

“It’s me. Come on out.”

Clay, from the seat of his car, had watched the whirl of events.

Narrowly missing Kenny and his dog, the black Mustang had slid to a stop—a perfect chance for Kenny to get away. And out jumped Shanique. It
had been years since he’d seen Mylisha’s sister, but her long legs and flirty fashion were still the same.

He knew the other woman as well. Even as Kenny took off running, Henna tried to move past Shanique and found herself face to face with a fit and street-toughened woman. They were like two old foes. Their voices escalated.

He did not know the man in the European-style jacket.

Clay had an inkling where Kenny might be headed. With the prominence of Engine 418 in these strange dealings, Kenny would be worried about the object he’d found on board. He’d rejected Clay’s suggestion of turning it in to the Junction City Historical Society, said he wanted to investigate it himself first. Clay, once an adventurous boy himself, had given grudging approval.

The drainpipe. That’s where the kid was going.

So as not to attract attention, Clay fought his urge to punch the gas pedal through the floorboards, chose instead to roll along Sixth Street, a law-abiding citizen.

The streetlights painted the road in yellow green hues. The high-speed train’s distant cry was the one harsh note in the town’s nightly orchestra of life.

Sure enough, Clay spotted young Kenny sprinting along the sidewalk and over the tracks.
The kid has some wheels on him, that’s for sure
.

Clay cruised over the humped pavement, sped down after his charge. He braked to a halt atop the drainpipe. The ditch bristled with crackling weeds and tossed Dari Mart cups. An abandoned shopping cart lay rusting on its side.

He jumped out and crouched above the pipe’s opening. He yelled through cupped hands, received a response of relief. Behind him a car was approaching.

“It’s me,” he assured. “Come on out.”

Items clattered in the hollow space, then Kenny’s head poked into view. He had the wooden tube clutched in his hand. “They want this. That’s what they’re after. I don’t get it. What’s so amazing about some old chess king?”

“You could wait and ask them.” Clay jabbed a thumb down the street.

Kenny’s eyes widened at the approaching Taurus. In his pupils the railway lights sprang to life, warning of the fast approaching train. Bells rang, and the painted crossing arm made a jerky descent.

The Taurus swerved around it.

“Get in the car, Kenny. We’ll lose ’em.”

“In this old beater?”

“Hurry!” Clay offered a hand to pull Kenny up and over the drainpipe’s lip.

Instead, Kenny pushed forward the carved oak object, and Clay’s hand clamped around it, brushing the kid’s skin. The confirmation of today’s date stamped down into his palm, shooting messages to his brain that he refused to acknowledge.

“You take it,” Kenny said. “They’ll think I have it.”

“What?”

“Go. I’ll meet up with you later. Put it somewhere safe.”

“Nope, we’re not going with that plan.” Clay threw a glance back. Behind the windshield of the Taurus, the husky man from the park jounced as his tires clattered over the tracks. “Come on, get in the car.”

Kenny took off along the drainage ditch, his helmet bobbing and weaving.

“Kenny! Get back here!”

The kid slithered through curtains of dry grass, loose white laces trailing, arms pumping, feet threading between obstacles of debris and stone. Clay started to hop down after him, then second-guessed the idea. If he pursued Kenny, the man with the European jacket would do the same. They’d be in a footrace.

Clay hitched his legs back onto the pavement, slung himself into the Duster. He jammed the wooden tube into his front pocket, crunched down on the accelerator, felt the car respond and shove him back in the cushioned seat. In the rearview mirror, he waited for the Taurus to pursue him, but instead it slammed to a halt at the drainpipe.

Had the man seen Kenny? Seen his escape?