Peter threw the Mercedes in park in the shadows behind the garage, away from the streetlight. Against her better judgment, Sophie followed him to the back door, completely passing his Audi, which was parked in the garage lot. Peter picked up a rock and made ready to break the window.
Sophie fought the urge to scream. “What are you doing?”
“Their alarm is broken,” he said. “I heard them talking when I dropped the car off for service yesterday.”
Sophie clutched the blood-soaked paper towels around her arm. “Peter, listen to me! We don’t need to break in. Your car is out here. There’s an extra set of keys on my ring.”
“No good,” Peter said. “Those people deactivated our alarm system to get into the house. If they’re that sophisticated, it wouldn’t be much of a challenge for them to track our car.”
“So?” Sophie stared at him, incredulous. “If they can track my car, then they can track your car, too.”
Peter used the rock to smash the window, then reached inside to unlock the door. “That’s why we’re not taking my car.” He grabbed the keys to a late-model Chevy Impala. The paperwork said it was in for a fifty-thousand-mile tune-up, still drivable. He led the way back to the lot. “Come on,” he said, scanning the dark and deserted streets. “They could be right behind us.”
Sophie got in the front seat this time. Peter eased out of the parking lot, heading south toward Chicago.
“And now can we call the police?”
“We will,” Peter said. “But not right away. The police are compelled to follow the law, and that takes time — time that others can use to finish the job they started in our house tonight.”
Sophie choked back a sob, clutching her belly. “Who are you?”
“I’m trying to protect you,” Peter said.
“You… shot those people,” Sophie said.
“They were—”
“I know,” she said, letting the tears take over. “I know it. I trust you. I’m just so scared…”
“Me, too,” Peter said, which, for some reason, comforted Sophie more than if he’d tried to pretend he wasn’t terrified by the attack.
Someone had invaded their castle, the place where they should have been safe. And that man, the one who had grabbed her, he was so… cold. Like he didn’t care if she lived or died. No, that wasn’t true. He wanted to watch her die. She’d seen it in his eyes. The whole thing left her feeling violated and raw — incredibly vulnerable.
Peter put a hand on her knee and gave it a squeeze. “You have to trust that I have a plan. I don’t want to scare you any more than—”
“That’s not possible,” Sophie said. “That guy threatened to cut out the baby.”
“This wasn’t a home invasion. They weren’t dopeheads there to rob us to get money for a fix. We’re dealing with an assassination team sent by a nation-state. Those kind of people don’t stop until they are stopped.”
“But you can stop them,” Sophie said. “I mean, you have a plan.”
“I do,” Peter said. “It’s not necessarily legal, but it’s moral — and it will save our lives.”
James leaned forward between the seats, cell phone in hand. The poor kid was still in shock, his mind searching frantically for the tiniest fragment of normalcy to cling to. “I forgot. Leah’s mom is supposed to pick me up for school in the morning. We were going to work on a project together. I need to call her and tell her I can’t make it.”
Peter shook his head, gripping the wheel. “No calls,” he said.
“She’ll figure it out, hon,” Sophie said. “Let’s work out what’s going on before we talk to anyone.”
“O… okay,” the boy said, his voice hollow, numb now that the adrenaline was ebbing. He slid the phone back into his pocket.
The phone on the desk in Ryan’s residential study chirped. He’d been expecting the call and snatched up the handset before the second ring. It was Foley and she was outside in the East Sitting Hall with van Damm.
“They have it, Mr. President,” Mary Pat said after Ryan invited them in. “The F-15s will pick up the thumb drive in…” She looked at her watch. “Eighty-three minutes. They’ll hotfoot it across the Pacific as fast as they can — which is a little faster than reported by Wikipedia — and get it to our labs in Honolulu in a little over three hours, not counting a couple of midair refueling stops.”
“Good to hear,” Ryan said. He knew Jack Junior was part of the team that had gone in, but made it a point not to ask about him personally. “Any mishaps?”
“Chavez got beat up a little,” Foley said. “But they say he’s good to go.”
“Are you both packed?” Ryan asked. They were coming with him to Indonesia, and would depart with him on Marine One from the White House.
“Yes, Mr. President,” they said in unison.
“Something else,” Ryan asked. He could see it in van Damm’s face.
“Mr. President,” the chief of staff said. “It’s about Father Pat. The Indonesian government is now charging him with smuggling heroin. No word on the trial, but until that time, they’re moving him to Nusa Kambangan.”
Ryan felt as though he’d been kicked in the teeth. “Execution Island?”
Foley nodded. “I’m afraid so.”
