The Chain(83)

“It didn’t work,” she says.

“He didn’t think it was going to work with the encrypted apps. He said the phone trace works better.”

“If I say ‘Please call me,’ it will definitely make them suspicious,” Rachel says.

“I don’t know.”

A thought occurs to Rachel. “You know, Erik might be a crazy person. This might have no hope whatsoever of working.”

“MIT doesn’t employ dummies.”

“But he still might be crazy. Maybe the grief has driven him mad?”

“Do you think you can risk another communication without pissing them off?”

“What does it matter? As soon as they find my name in the notebook, they’ll come for us.”

“We don’t know that they’ve got the notebook. He might have hidden it in a safe or something.”

Rachel looks through the windows. “They have it,” she says. “They’re reading it right now. Sooner or later, they’ll put two and two together.”

“My fault. I’m really sorry about that,” Pete says.

“I couldn’t have gotten Kylie back without you, Pete.”

Rachel opens the Wickr app again.

There must be some way of getting off The Chain forever. Something I can do for you or some amount of money I can pay. A way to close things off permanently, so we know that we are safe. Please, for the sake of my little girl, tell me what it is, she types and sends the message.

They have to wait only two minutes for a response. Again it comes through Wickr, not the phone. She fires up the hunter-killer application.

You must be pretty stupid. What was the first thing we told you? It’s not about the money. It’s about The Chain itself. It’s got to keep going forever. Lose one link in The Chain and the whole thing collapses. OK, dummy? Wickr 2348383hudykdy2 replies.

The hunter-killer algorithm searches and recalibrates, and Erik’s GPS locator lights up but once more crashes with no result. Rachel’s phone freezes and she has to turn it off and on again.

“Nothing,” Rachel says.

“Shit!”

“I’ll try one more,” Rachel says.

Please. I’m begging you. For the sake of my family, is there anything I can do to get off The Chain? she types.

She shows it to Pete. “Send it,” he says.

She sends the message. This time there is no quick response.

Five minutes go by.

Ten.

“That’s it, then,” Rachel says.

Her iPhone rings.

She fumbles for it and drops it onto the floor.

It bounces on its edge and the screen cracks.

“Shit!” Rachel screams and grabs the phone and turns on Erik’s app. “Hello?” she says.

It’s the Unknown Caller. The voice, as usual, is disguised.

“There is one thing you can do for us, Rachel. Why don’t you kill yourself, you stupid bitch!” the voice says.

The hunter-killer algorithm flares to life and begins zooming in on an area of Massachusetts north of Boston.

“Please, I—”

“Goodbye, Rachel,” the Unknown Caller says.

Keep her talking, Pete mouths.

“Wait. Don’t go. I know things about you. I’ve found out stuff,” Rachel says.

There’s a pause before the voice asks, “What things?”

Rachel’s mind races. She doesn’t want to be associated with Erik in case they haven’t got the notebook after all. What things about The Chain could she have found out on her own?

“The woman who took my daughter was named Heather. Her husband accidentally told Kylie that her son is named Jared. It shouldn’t be difficult to find a woman named Heather with a son named Jared.”

“What would you do with that information?” the voice asks.

“We could start tracing our way backward to the very beginning of The Chain.”

“That would be signing your own death warrant, Rachel. You’re a very stupid woman, gambling with your life and your daughter’s life like this,” the voice says.

All the while they talk, the app zeros in on a smaller and smaller area of Massachusetts. A diminishing circle whose focus is now somewhere south of Ipswich and north of Boston.

“I don’t want to cause any trouble. I—I just want to feel safe,” Rachel says.

“If you ever contact us again, you’ll be dead by the end of the day,” the voice says. The call is disconnected.

But the app worked. The phone call was made in the Choate Island area in the marshes of Essex County. The cell tower nearest the caller is on Choate Island itself.

Rachel takes a screenshot of the map and shows it to Pete.

“This is it!” he cries.

“Let’s go!” Rachel agrees.

They run outside to the truck.

They speed south along Route 1A through Rowley and Ipswich. In Ipswich they get onto 133, a narrow road through Ipswich’s Great Marsh.

They drive as close as they can to Choate Island but there are no roads onto the boggy island itself, so they’ll have to walk if they’re going to find the cell tower. The fog isn’t so bad down here, but the rain is chilly and coming at them slantwise from the ocean.

They park the pickup and get out. They put on coats and hiking boots. Pete’s armed himself with the rifle, the Glock, the .45, and two flash-bang stun grenades that he thinks might come in handy. Rachel takes her shotgun. She’s shaking. She’s so afraid, she’s finding it hard to breathe.