Wortham slapped Jonathan’s shoulder. “In that case, I wish a quick trip to Hell for whoever’s on Satan’s side.” With that, he started walking back toward the terminal.
Jonathan felt a flash of guilt. He had the old guy’s car, which meant that the old guy had no wheels. “Hey!” he called. “Mr. Wortham!”
The older man turned.
“Can we drop you somewhere?”
He flashed two rows of perfectly aligned teeth. If they were natural, they were an anomaly for his generation. “Are you shittin’ me? I’m at an airport and I got a pocket full of money. I figure the world is mine, at least for the next month or so. Plus, I won’t have to answer phone calls about where my truck might have ended up. Whatever you’re doin’, good luck to you.”
The old guy disappeared into the executive terminal as Jonathan grabbed the cash bag and brought it up front with him. The Expedition was an Eddie Bauer model, complete with beige leather and beige everything else on the interior. “Nice guy,” Jonathan said.
“Don’t you ever just grunt and ignore people?” Boxers asked. “I mean, Jesus. You flash money like it’s friggin’ manure, and then you tell him we were part of the Unit. Christ, why don’t you just give him a business card with a lipstick print? I wanted to put a friggin’ sock in your mouth.”
Jonathan granted bragging rights to Boxers as the man who’d saved his ass more times than anyone else on earth, and as such granted a huge margin for stepping out of line. This was an unusual break.
“I sense you have a problem,” he said.
Boxers laughed. “How very intuitive of you,” he said. “It’s not a big deal, Dig, but you just need to start taking OpSec more seriously. You’re getting chatty in your old age.”
That was a double shot — old age and flouting security — and Jonathan opted to ignore both of them. They had stuff to do, and they didn’t need the pall of an argument.
Jonathan pulled two radios out of the cash duffel. He handed one to Big Guy and kept the other for himself. Not much bigger than a pack of cigarettes, the radio represented the best in satellite and encryption technology. He hooked it onto his belt at the small of his back and slipped a wireless transceiver into his right ear. He pressed the tiny transmit button on the earpiece and said, “Mother Hen, Scorpion. You there?”
It took a few seconds before Venice’s voice crackled, “Right here. You’re loud and clear.”
“Just so you know, we’re on the ground and on our way,” Jonathan said over the air. “I’ll reestablish contact when we’re close.”
“Got it,” Venice said. “I’ll be standing by.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“I made the phone call,” Graham said. He’d changed into the new clothes and everything fit. He thought she needed to know.
Her face turned pale. “Tell me you’re kidding. Are you talking about the panic call?”
Graham nodded. He knew she was pissed. No, she was beyond pissed.
“Why would you do that?” she shouted. In all the months they’d been together, he’d never heard her raise her voice before.
“Because I promised my mom,” he said. His voice caught in his throat as he spoke, and tears burned his eyes. “You said yourself that she’s probably dead. How could I not?”
“But you didn’t know—” Jolaine stopped herself. She held her hands in front of her, palms out, as if to tell someone to stop. Or maybe to tell the anger to stop. “Okay,” she said. He wasn’t sure to whom. “Okay, what’s done is done. Tell me about it. Tell me what happened.”
“I really didn’t mean any harm,” Graham said. He didn’t think he could handle anyone being angry with him right now. He needed friends. He had enough enemies.
“Please just tell me what happened on the phone call.”
Graham told her about the conversation with the mysterious man on the phone. He tried to be as complete in the details as possible, and he didn’t intentionally leave anything out. The deeper he got into the story, the darker Jolaine’s expression became.
“So, did you or did you not give him the code?”
“I did not.” Not only was that the truth, but he also sensed that it was the right answer. That made him feel less shitty.
Jolaine fell quiet as she thought through the details. Something passed through her brain that made her eyes light up. “Wait a minute,” she said. “What phone did you use?”
Graham pointed to the phone on the nightstand. “That one.”
Jolaine shot to her feet. “Oh, shit. Oh, Christ, now they know where we are.”
“I don’t think I talked long enough for them to trace the call,” Graham said.
“Really? I mean, really? This is the twenty-first century, Graham. This is the age of caller I.D. and instant recognition. They knew where you were the instant they answered the phone.” She looked around, clearly on the edge of panic. She was scanning the room for something. She darted into the bathroom and looked there, too.
Graham felt a surge of panic in his gut. “What?” he said. “What is it? What’s wrong? Why are—”
“Do you have anything important in here?” Jolaine asked. She reappeared from the bathroom with the toothbrush she’d bought for him. She tossed it and the toothpaste into one of the shopping bags.
“No, I don’t think so.”
“Then get to the car,” she said. “We have to get out of here.”
“Where are we going?”
“Anywhere,” she said. “We can’t stay here. They’re coming for us.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know!” she shouted. “The same people who came for us last night, Graham. The same people I told you not to call, but you decided to call anyway.” She slapped the lamp that sat atop the dresser and sent it to the end of its electrical cord tether. From there, it crashed to the floor.
“Jesus, Jolaine.” Graham retreated between the beds. He’d never seen her like this.
“You don’t get it, do you?” she shouted, taking a step closer. “I mean, you really, truly, deep in your heart of hearts don’t get it. We are at war, Graham. And we don’t know who the hell the enemy is! People are trying to kill us.”
She spun and moved to the door, the shopping bag dangling from her hand. “Come on,” she said. “Right now. We’re out of here.” She beckoned him with a vast, circular motion of her entire arm.
“What is it?” Graham moved as he spoke. “You’re scared.”
“Damn right I’m scared,” she said. “The bad guys are close. We didn’t drive that far last night. Maybe, what, an hour? Hour and a half max? When did you make your phone call?”
Graham glanced at the clock. It was past checkout time. “I hung up about twenty minutes ago.”
“Shit.” Her beckoning motion grew even larger. “Now. We’re gone.”
Casting a final glance around the tiny space to make sure that he hadn’t left anything — how could he when he hadn’t brought anything? — he darted over to join Jolaine at the door.
She hesitated before opening it. Almost as an afterthought, it seemed, she looked through the peephole.
“Anybody out there?” Graham asked.
“No,” she said. She pressed the button on the car key fob to unlock the doors, then spun around. She planted her back against the door, and reached out to place both her hands on his shoulders. She squeezed tightly enough to hurt. “You have to listen to me, Graham. And you have to do exactly what I say or I swear to God I’ll shoot you myself and be done with this shit. Do you understand me?”
Even after the pep talk of a few minutes ago, he halfway believed that she really would shoot him. “Yes,” he said. “I promise.”
“We’re going to go straight to the car,” Jolaine explained. The intensity in her eyes could have lit a fire. “We’re not going to run, but we’re going to walk with purpose. I will have my hand on your back, and you will not fight me. We are both going to get in on the driver’s side, and you are going to crawl across to the passenger side, then we’re going to get out of here. If anything happens — I mean, if anything happens — if there’s shooting or God knows what else, I want you on the floor and I want you to stay there. I know what I’m doing, and you don’t. Are we clear?”