The Chain(37)

Rachel puts the shoes in the gym bag, partially zips it, and throws it in the marsh, where it floats. She doesn’t have time for a Norman Bates–style car-sinking scene, so she wades into the swamp and sinks the bastard with her foot. Then she puts the ski mask back on.

“Do you want me to drive?” Pete asks as Rachel climbs back into the pickup. She shakes her head and turns to Amelia, who has tears streaming down her little face. Her eyes are wide and she’s clearly terrified.

“It’s going to be OK, darling,” Rachel says. “We’re just taking you for a couple of days. It’s a game we’re playing. Your mommy and daddy know all about it.”

“Are they playing the game too?” Amelia asks, surprised.

“Yes, they are. It’s going to be OK. I promise,” Rachel says and puts the car in gear and drives again.

“You’re going to have to wear this blindfold now, honey,” Pete says. “It’s part of the game.”

“Like blindman’s buff?” Amelia asks.

“Sure,” Pete says.

“I’ve played that one before.”

She puts the blindfold on, and Pete and Rachel take their ski masks off.

They are just outside of Newbury when Rachel sees the state police car in her rearview mirror. “Cops,” she says calmly.

Pete looks back. “We haven’t done anything wrong. Just keep driving, don’t speed, don’t go slow,” he says.

“I know,” she snarls at him. “But give me a gun. If they stop us, there will be no talking our way out of this.”

“Rachel—”

“Give it to me!”

Pete hands her the .45 and she puts it in her lap. “You know how to use it?” he asks.

“Yes. We’re agreed on what we’re going to do if we’re stopped?”

“Yes,” he says and holds his breath.





27

Friday, 6:57 p.m.



The cops tailgate them for thirty seconds, slowly come alongside, and then zoom by in the passing lane.

Of course they do.

Rachel has done nothing wrong.

She drives straight to the Appenzellers’.

Amelia is either dazed or terrified. It doesn’t matter which—she’s compliant, and that’s what counts. “You get her inside and I’ll make the phone calls,” Rachel tells Pete.

When the street is deserted Pete takes Amelia out of the Dodge and down into the basement.

Rachel stays in the cab and pulls up the Wickr app on her phone. It’s done, she types to her contact.

What’s done? a message comes back.

I’ve kidnapped Amelia Dunleavy. I’m holding her right now.

Rachel’s phone rings. “Good. Very good,” the distorted voice says. “I will call her family now. You will then call and ask for a hundred thousand dollars, payable in Bitcoin to the same account as before.”

“A hundred thousand! That seems—”

“That represents only half the amount they have in their savings account. They can pay that easily. It’s not about the money, Rachel.”

“I know. It’s about The Chain.”

“That’s right. I will call them and tell them to get a pen and paper. You will talk to them five minutes from now on a burner phone. They will be waiting by the telephone for your call.”

The line goes dead.

Rachel calls Pete on a burner phone.

“Hello?” he says.

“Is everything OK?” she asks.

“She’s freaked, obviously. Scared. I’m saying that we’re friends of the family. She sort of believes it and sort of doesn’t.”

“Keep her safe, Pete. Keep her away from nuts. I don’t know how sensitive she is, but we have to err on the side of caution. Let’s not be the stupid babysitter in one of those movies.”

“We won’t be.”

“We have to read all the labels of everything we give to her and we’ll need to get an EpiPen.”

“We will. I’ll look into that. I think you can get them on eBay. Have you called the family yet?”

“Doing it now.”

“Use a different phone than this one. Drive away from the house to make the call.”

“Good idea. I will.”

She drives quickly to the parking lot by the ocean. She dials the Dunleavys’ number. “Hello?” a woman says anxiously.

“I’ve taken your daughter, Amelia. She’s been kidnapped. You are not to call the police. If you call the police or any law enforcement agency, I’ll kill her. Do you understand?”

Helen begins to scream.

Rachel calms her down by telling her that if she doesn’t calm down, she is going to put a bullet in her daughter’s brain.

The conversation takes ten minutes.

When it’s over, Rachel gets out of the car and throws up again and again until there’s nothing left.

She stares at the black ocean breaking on the shore.

She sits on the sand as a very cold, hard rain begins to fall.

Her head’s hurting. She feels as if her skull is going to explode.

She sits for five more minutes and then stands and stamps on the burner phone and throws the pieces into the sea. She tilts her face up into the downpour and begs the water to cleanse her. It doesn’t work.