The Timer Game (34 page)

She’d had Jeanne read the directions out loud. Even over the sound of the engine, the Spikeman would have heard. It wouldn’t take him long to figure out where they were going.

Flying out was the only thing that made sense, if they were to make it back in time.

Jeanne clambered up to the open door. “Oh, God, do you have anything to drink?” Passing traffic illuminated her face. It was white and pinched.

“Just the end of what you brought me.” The watered-down cola was still sitting in the drink holder, and Grace passed it to her and went back to work, slipping the brad free.

Jeanne eased back into the car and sucked the can dry. “God, I feel so sick.” She carefully stowed the can, her movements deliberate to offset the slight trembling in her fingers.

“Just rest, honey. I’ve got to get these out before they find us. I should have asked you to do this right after the CD ended.”

Jeanne leaned her head back and closed her eyes. “They were already there before the CD stopped, Grace. They pulled up about twenty minutes after you left.”

Grace worked on the audio bug in the Wingers’ chart until it came loose in her hand. She scrambled out of the car.

Jeanne watched her through the open window. “What are you doing?”

Grace trotted over to the damp stew of vomit and dropped the brads. They drove in silence for several miles, Grace checking the rearview mirror. “Did they tell you anything?”

Jeanne’s eyes clouded. “I asked them about Katie. They pretended not to know who I was talking about. They did say they wouldn’t hurt me. They just needed to—how did they put it—derail your efforts overnight. That was all.”

So the Spikeman was trying to stop her from getting home. They wanted her to head home. And have the dislocating pain of not getting there in time. Another game. A Timer Game she’d lose. When she’d seen the
HEAD SOUTH
signs posted along the side of the road, that had been the first thought that had flashed through her mind. She’d never make it in time, driving.

It must mean Katie was still alive. Whatever they were planning, they hadn’t done it yet.

But that was before the Spikeman had realized she’d talked to Katie.

“Who were those men?”

“Hired hands. That’s all.” Grace gunned the gas. “We have to hurry.”

Chapter 38

All Hallows’ Eve, 9:14 p.m.

Clouds obscured the sliver of moon and left the highway a silvery trail in the dark. She sped down Mather Field Boulevard. The field was an old Air Force base, and the architecture was square and boxy, tan with brown roofs. In the median strip new construction gleamed, punctuated by palm trees. The field was lit like a stadium and the ramps were massive enough to lift old B52's into the air. Grace skidded to a stop, and stuffed the charts into her shoulder bag, already half out the door.

“I’m going ahead and getting us checked in.”

She raced into the building, past a blur of white walls adorned with photos of helicopters, instrument panels, cargo loaders. A clerk manned a counter, under a sign with the word
TONIGHT.
Grace stole a glance at the timer. A bright spark of light in a thin band. A spark of light in Katie’s eyes. She waited as the clerk assisted a middle-aged couple, her panic rising.

Her only hope was that Mac had already found Katie at the halfway house.
It’s a lady.
She wanted so much for it to work like that. She turned on Jeanne’s cell. There was a mailbox icon and her heart jumped. She pressed
Play,
willing it to be Mac.

Assistant Warden Thor Syzmanski cleared his throat and said, “Grace, hell, I don’t have to lie to you. It’s not my weekend with the kids; I got nothing else on my plate. I looked back through some tapes and found what I think you might want. Got a pencil?”

Grace took down the number Thor Syzmanski dictated. “Benny got this call yesterday from his sister, Opal. It’s a little scratchy but I think you can make out the words.”

A beat of silence. Grace heard the familiar voice from the halfway house and her stomach plummeted. “Everything’s in place,” Opal said. “Just do what we planned.”

“Doesn’t help me much,” Benny said.

“Doesn’t hurt you either,” Opal snapped. A long silence. “Not my fault you’re where you are. You know what to do, just do it.”

The line went dead. Thor’s voice came on. “Grace, you get that? Anyway, hope that helps.” He hesitated. “Stay sober, kid. Next time.”

She closed her cell phone and took her place at the counter. “Jeb Shattuck.”

“Shattuck, okay.” The counterman had curly sideburns that matted around the frames of his glasses. He moved slowly as he checked the roster.

“I’m in a hurry,” Grace pressed. “I’m Grace Descanso.” She pulled out her ID.

“Jeb’s through there.” The counterman pointed to a side door. “I’ll buzz you through.”

Grace glanced up and saw Jeanne crossing the lobby, leaning heavily on her cane.

“I’m going to need a cart or something for my friend.”

“No problem.” The counterman picked up the phone as Grace pulled the timer out of her purse.
TONIGHT.
The word pulsed across the screen. A bright spark from Katie’s eye was all that was left. A blot of perspiration formed in the small of her back.

TONIGHT.

She took a step back, away from the counter, and stared up past the clerk to the word above his head. It was the same typeface as on the timer.

TONIGHT.

“Oh, my God. Do you know how to stop this?”

He held up his hand. “Sorry, couldn’t hear. Yes, a cart, thanks.” He hung up. “You were asking something?”

“This timer. Do you know how to turn it off?”

The light on the screen was dimming.

“I have no idea.”

“You don’t understand. You do, you just don’t know it.”

A man driving a golf cart rolled to a stop in front of Jeanne and the counterman raised his voice. “Ben, you haven’t punched in yet.”

Grace’s head snapped. Time. Time cards. Punch. Punch and Judy. Punch a time card. Along the base of the timer was a small indentation.

“Time cards. Where do they punch in?”

He pointed. A metal slot had been cut into the counter and it was here that the time cards were inserted and automatically stamped.

Grace shoved the timer into the slot as the last light in the pixels cooled.

A burst of exploding colored pixeled fireworks lit the screen.

“What the hell?”

She yanked the timer free and shoved it across the counter at him. “Here. Take it. I don’t need it. Grace,” she said, her voice uneven. “Grace Descanso. Do you have something for me?”

The counterman shook his head. He turned the timer over in his hands. “How does this work?”

“A packet. Something.”

“I guess I could check the vault. See if anything’s been turned in.”

The fireworks evaporated. The screen was blank. He put the timer down reluctantly and pulled a set of keys out of his pocket. The golf cart bearing Jeanne moved out the side door onto the tarmac as the clerk checked under the counter.

“Well, this is interesting. Grace Descanso, right?”

He placed a packet the size of a plane ticket on the counter. A slip of paper fell out. A faint stripe of blue threaded through the weave. He bent down and retrieved it.

“Sorry. It’s not a secure packet. Let me make sure nothing else fell out.”

Grace stared at the paper, knowing what she’d find, feeling the familiar skid of her heart, the click of recognition:

It’s finally here, with one last clue!

A dusty prize is pointing you.

Inside the past, inside a cell

The answer lies, a living hell.

I haven’t killed her, no not yet.

It’s you I want, and you, I’ll get.

Flesh on flesh, two souls consume. The alternative: a fiery tomb.

Work fast. The meter’s running.

The man at the counter said, “And this. I think this was part of it.” He held up what he’d found. “A timer.”

Chapter 39

All Hallows’ Eve, 9:23 p.m.

The Cirrus sat on the side of the runway under bright lights, its white, sleek body dwarfed by a fuel truck parked next to it. A gas nozzle lipped into the wing of the plane, held by a man with a bristly brown ponytail hanging to his waist. Grease saturated the pores of his skin and his fingernails were almost black. He was wearing an orange jumpsuit covered in stains.

It was cold now and Jeanne shivered as she read the clue. “She’s alive.”

“If we can trust a madman.”

“I don’t see what choice we have, Grace.”

Grace was looking at the timer. White numeric face, industrial and homely. Written in bold black it said:
2 HRS, 37 MIN
. It reminded her uneasily of the clocks in every operating room she’d ever been in. She put it back into her bag and took the clue Jeanne offered.

“Okay, ladies, rock-and-roll time.” Jeb stood on the wing and extended a hand down, helping Jeanne climb up.

She took a seat in back and Grace joined Jeb up front. The leather seats smelled new, and sitting up high in the small, enclosed space, she could see runway lights winking below in the darkness like a carpet of stars.

“How long before we’re airborne?”

“Soon.” He reached over and secured Grace’s door.

“How long before we’re there?”

“You’re worse than a kid.” He saw her face and added, “Two hours and twenty minutes.”

“We’ll be landing seventeen minutes before midnight?”

He nodded. “Close. The harness attaches here.” He positioned it over her shoulder and she snapped it together. He handed her a headset attached to a small mike, and she put it on.

“The mikes are voice-activated,” Jeb said, his voice tinny in her ears. “Play with them to get them positioned right. You can talk to each other for a while if you want to get used to them. There’s a tank of oxygen in the back, too.”

The fuel truck was backing up, clearing the plane. Jeb punched buttons on his console and listened to the Automated Terminal Information System recording in his headset.

To Grace and Jeanne he said, “We’ll be flying to eleven thousand feet. Colors start to drop out at that altitude. There are nasal cannulas that attach if you need them. The tank’s inside that leather bag between the backseats. Oh, yeah,” he added, “when I hold up my hand it means stop talking. I need to hear what’s going on.”

He held up his hand almost immediately and spoke into his microphone, “Mather Cirrus three twenty-one Bravo Golf at FBO. IFR to Montgomery Field, San Diego, ready to taxi.”

All she could think about was calling Mac again, hoping to find out how things had gone at the halfway house. If he’d found Katie.

A voice crackled in the headphones, repeating what Jeb had said and adding, “Cleared to taxi to twenty-two left. We have your IFR flight plan. Advise when ready to copy.”

Jeb answered. A voice in the headphones cleared him and gave him climbing instructions and a departure frequency. In the flicker of green lights on screen, Jeb checked altitude and heading indicators, and readings on winds, temperature and dew point.

“Okay, ladies, here we go.”

“Do you have a satellite phone, and can I use it when we’re airborne?”

“Yes and yes.” They taxied to the end of the runway. Jeb did a final check, the tower cleared them for takeoff, and within moments the plane gathered speed and lifted into the air.

Airborne, Jeb turned off the landing light, a headlamp under the nose of the plane that illuminated the center line of the runway. The airfield lights sparkled in a bright stamp below.

Jeb spoke to the tower, adjusting the plane’s flying altitude. On the wings, flashing white strobe lights whirred. Behind them, the airfield grew smaller until it disappeared.

Grace pulled the charts out. “Can we have some light? I’m going to make a call.”

Jeb passed her the satellite phone and punched on reading lights. The phone was heavy in her hand, with a long spoke of a receiver that stuck up. A cross between an early version of a cell phone and a walkie-talkie.

“Press
Power,
then
Talk.
I’m cutting your mike so you have some privacy. It’ll take a while to get a signal, but it’ll come.”

Grace did what he said. She dialed Mac’s number. He picked up on the second ring.

“Did you find her?”

“Short answer, no.”

“Did you go there? To the halfway house?”

They were still climbing. On a green screen in front of Jeb, the altitude of the landscape shifted as they rose, the outlines of mountain appearing on the grid.

“I couldn’t get ahold of Warren. I thought about calling the cops, but I didn’t want to have to slow things down by explaining.”

“You went in alone?”

He hesitated. “Not exactly.”

She was confused and then comprehension flooded her, followed by angry disbelief. “You took a film crew in. You filmed it.”

“Tape,” Mac said. “They use tape.”

“You taped it,” she repeated, her voice rising. ‘How could you tape it? That’s what this was to you, a story? That’s all this is?”

“No. Grace, it’s not like that.”

“How could you do that?” She cut him off as he started to speak. “Wait, I don’t care. Katie’s all I care about.”

His voice was angry. “It’s not what you think.”

“It’s
exactly
what I think, Mac. It’s what it’s always been with you. The story. Doesn’t matter what it costs—”

“Look.” His voice rose. “Our daughter needs both of us—”

“You’re lecturing me?” she shouted. Jeb glanced at her and Grace stared out her window. Far below, a tracing of lights scattered like glitter across the landscape. “You’re telling me how to behave when it comes to my daughter?”

“
Ours,”
he roared. “Grace, I don’t carry a gun. I can’t go blasting into some dangerous place and expect to blow away the bad guy. All I have is the power of that camera, and by God, I’ll use it for this. I’ll use every scrap of every single thing I know if it helps to get her home.”