Unknown 9 by Layton Green (e reader txt) 📗

“And this little jammer is the best in show. If we stay low and out of sight lines, we should be fine.”

Andie was surprised by the man’s American accent, which reminded her of a Carolina twang. “What about the Bologna police?” she asked. “Wouldn’t they notice a helicopter?”

“Zawadi pulled some strings.”

“What kind of strings?”

“That’s above my pay grade. But my guess would be metro police or aviation control.”

“Don’t tell me you don’t know who she works for,” Cal said, after exchanging a glance with Andie. “The Leap Year Society?”

“Don’t know ’em,” he said nervously. “I could take you back to Bologna if you like. Maybe someone there could answer your questions.”

She shot Cal a warning look. “Of course not,” she said. “Thank you for saving us.”

“I won’t say it’s a habit when I’m working with Zawadi. But let’s just say I earn my keep.”

“Can you tell us where we’re going?”

“Funny,” the pilot said. “I was supposed to ask you that.”

“What do you mean?”

“Zawadi gave me three instructions: keep you alive, don’t ask questions—well, that’s a standing order—and take you where you need to go.”

Cal leaned in close to Andie and spoke as quietly as he could above the noise of the copter. “Your best guess is India, right?”

“Yeah, but that’s obviously too broad, and I’m not even sure it’s right.”

“What do you need to decide?”

“The internet.”

Cal raised his voice. “Any chance this bird has Wi-Fi?”

“Sure, but the jammer blocks it. And in my humble opinion, shutting the jammer down right now would be a very bad idea.”

“No arguments here. The problem is, we need to get online before we decide where we’re going. And it may take a while.”

“How long?”

“Maybe hours, maybe a day or two.”

Andie looked at Cal and mouthed, I hope.

After a moment, the pilot said, “There’s someplace safe I can take you. Wi-Fi, food, and lodging. It’s only a couple of hours away.”

“Where is it?”

The pilot hesitated. “Sicily.”

When Cal looked at Andie, she shrugged and said, “Let’s go.”

The pilot changed course, veering to the left and then straightening out. Now that they had a short-term destination, Andie decided to inspect the contents of the gray pouch Zawadi had flung at her before they parted ways. Inside they found two Canadian passports and driver’s licenses with photos of Andie and Cal under false aliases: Kimberly Smith and David Hill.

As anonymous as names get.

“How the hell did she get those?” Cal said.

“Is it even worth asking?”

Zawadi had also left them two Visa debit cards bearing the same false names. A sticker with a four-digit PIN was attached to the back of each card. Andie wondered how much money was on them.

Finally she pulled out a phone charger and a metallic-blue cell phone with QL engraved on the back in silver font. Andie pushed a button on the side, and a touch screen appeared with four icons: a clock, a phone, a camera, and smaller QL letters inside the orbital swirl of electrons around an atom. When she touched the QL icon, an internet browser popped up.

“Quasar Labs, I presume?” Cal said, with a frown. “There’s bound to be a tracker in there.”

“Maybe we need one. Zawadi has saved our lives twice already.”

“And for that I’m eternally grateful. It’s not about her. We don’t know the full story behind the fire at Quasar Labs. What if their technology is compromised and Zawadi doesn’t know it?”

“They would have found her by now, if that was the case.”

“Probably. I’m just . . .”

“Paranoid?”

“Yeah. I guess so. You aren’t by now?”

“Sure, but since we have no other ID or way to get money or a secure browser, I don’t see much choice, unless you’re prepared to rob a bank or wash a lot of dishes.”

Cal muttered something unintelligible and turned away from her, trying to get comfortable. He ended up with his knees folded awkwardly against the side of the copter. After a minute, he closed his eyes as Andie turned to stare out the opposite window, too wired to fall asleep. Soon the sporadic lights of the countryside fell away, and they flew south above the inky expanse of the Tyrrhenian Sea.

Just hours earlier, with Zawadi and Henrik by her side, she had felt a modicum of security for the first time in weeks. Now she and Cal were on their own again in a deadly and uncertain world, running for their lives, their only hope the enigmatic Star Phone puzzle she wasn’t sure they could solve.

Fearing the onset of another vision, she took long, slow breaths to control her stress, letting her thoughts drift, hoping to catch some needed rest.

Breathe in, Andie. Breathe out.

Breathe in, breathe out.

Breathe in, breathe out.

Breathe in, breathe out.

The evening before Dr. Corwin was shot, Andie had taken one of her solo runs through the woods, the crickets providing a cadence to her steady exhalations.

Like the constellations of a starry sky, the trails behind her house were a familiar thing, comforting and peaceful. It was her fourth run that week, one of countless since she had arrived in Durham.

She doubted the tattoo artist she had met would call her back. He didn’t look like the type of guy who made the effort to dig numbers out of his pockets and set up formal dates. It was now or never, baby. Or, if he did manage to call, it would be a short-lived fling.

Which was okay. She dug flings.

Something she didn’t have to think about too hard.

Someone she didn’t have to trust.

She hadn’t always run alone. When she first moved to Durham, Andie had joined a running club to try to make friends. The family of one of the club’s founders, Matt Stevenson, owned a farm just outside Hillsborough. A number of footpaths on his property connected to a nearby trail system. Every now and then, on a nice Saturday afternoon, the running club would take to the woods and end up at picnic tables in the backyard of Matt’s bougie farmstead, drinking rosé and craft beer