Something in the Water(96)

I scan the room. My rucksack is gone. Dammit. But it’s something else that makes me pause. The safe door is open and the safe empty. This throws me. That’s where the Glock was. It’s gone. How did Patrick know the code? But of course, I always use the same code. I use the code we have at home, one that is so easy to figure out it’s laughable. Mark’s birthday. Maybe Patrick did come to our house that day. Either way, somehow he knew Mark’s date of birth; he must have gone through the obvious choices and then struck gold. And now I have no gun. I have no gun, no phone, no plan.

There’s broken glass on the carpet. There’s blood on the bedspread. We’ve made quite a mess in here; I’ll have to clean it up at some point but right now I don’t have time. The clock on the bedside cabinet reads 4:18. It will go off in twelve minutes. I slam the off button and toss it onto the bed. I’ll need to take it with me; it’s the only way I’ve got of telling the time now.

In the mirror, the top left corner of my forehead on the hairline is red, swollen, crusted with black. For a second, feeling overwhelmed, I think about calling the police. Sending them to the woods. But I need to get Mark away from there first. I don’t want him caught in the chaos of police gunfire.

Instead I dress hastily, jam shoes on, then pull on the beanie hat that will cover the rest of the mess Patrick has made of my head.

Twelve minutes later I silently lift the latch on the front entrance of the hotel. The Do Not Disturb sign left hanging on the door to my highly incriminating room is the only thing between me and police interference. It will take me an hour to get to that spot in the woods, and I have no phone to call Mark, or Eddie, or anyone else who might help, no GPS to guide me, and no plan of what I’ll do when or if I get there. Just one simple thought: Save Mark.

It’s still dark outside. My breath fogs in the air. Five A.M. is already the sort of hour that prompts you to question your life choices. This morning, that feeling is particularly apt. I really have made bad choices in my life, but at least now that I know that, I’m in a position to rectify them.

With no phone or watch, I have to rely on the little plastic alarm clock. If I run, it should halve my time. I run. I run for a long time.

At 5:43 I start to panic. I’ve made my way as far as the tiny layby on the B road. I must have passed the spot and missed it. I head back into the forest.

At 5:57 I hear voices. They’re coming from the right, about a hundred yards away over a sloped area. I drop to my knees and crawl up the slope to the top of the incline and peek over. In the clearing, two figures stand talking. No conflict. No guns in sight.

I can’t make out the figures in the predawn light but I listen. I inch closer, desperate to remain hidden even as the leaves and forest debris crunch beneath my weight. The voices are clearer now, but something stops me short.

That voice. I know it. I love it. It’s Mark. Mark is here already. I want to leap up, charge into the clearing and into his arms. If he’s in danger, we’ll face it together.

But something stops me.

His tone.

His voice is cautious, businesslike. He’s clearly doing what he’s told. I’m too late. Shit. He must have run into them, trying to find me. They’re making him help them find the USB. I slide farther along the ridge. In the thin light I see that Mark and another man are now down on their knees, scraping at the forest floor, leather gloves brushing through leaves, scrabbling soil. The second man has read the notes on my phone, he knows I buried the USB, and now he’s making Mark help him look for it. He has both sets of coordinates; it’s only a matter of minutes before they find it. Shit. I need to think of some way to get Mark out of this.

Then in the half-light I see the face of the man holding my phone. I bite back a gasp. This man isn’t Patrick. This is not the man who attacked me in my hotel room. Panic jolts through me. There’s more of them. Does Mark know? Where is Patrick? I chance a glance behind me but the wood is deathly silent. Has Patrick gone? Has he done his part and left, or is he out in the darkness somewhere, keeping watch? Mark and the man stand and wander over to another patch of the clearing. This new man is taller than Mark, his dark hair peppered with gray; beneath his overcoat I catch a glimpse of a suit and tie. Expensively dressed—even as he slowly kneels near Mark and continues to search in the dirt and leaves. He reminds me of Eddie, but with a continental slant. This must be the man who was on the other end of the phone, I’m sure of it. Patrick has delivered my phone to him and they’ve been looking for the USB ever since. My phone app must have led Mark straight to them and now he’s been forced to take part in their search too.

Now I can see Mark’s features, grim and determined, as he scratches around on the forest floor. Is he wondering where I am? Is he scared? He’s hiding it well but I can still see the fear playing across his face. I know him so well: I know he’s using all his will to hold it together. Maybe he has a plan. I remember the way he fooled the receptionist at the Four Seasons just a couple of weeks ago, how good he was at playing his character. He’s smart; he’ll have a plan. God, I hope he has a plan.

I scan the clearing, desperate to come up with my own plan, but what can I do? I have no gun. I can’t just charge in. I’d end up getting us both killed. I need to think of something. I have to stop what’s happening, before they find the USB and Mark becomes dispensable. Before Patrick comes back, if indeed he’s out there. We can do this together, Mark and I, if I just think.