Teddy smiled. “So, you do remember,” he said.
“I remember that there were numbers and letters,” Graham said, “but I don’t remember what they were.”
Teddy made a clicking sound with his tongue and shook his head. “Such a shameful way for a good-looking young man to perish. I’m told that at first you feel a great pressure in your head and your face as the blood gets trapped above the level of the rope. As your windpipe crushes, it obviously gets harder to breathe, and as the pressure builds more, your gag reflex is triggered. If you have enough strength — enough wind — to vomit, then you make a mess down the front of yourself. If you do not, then the vomit will drown you. Either way, when people discover your body, your face will be bloated to two or three times its normal size — as will your legs and your scrotum — and you will be a deep purple in color. More times than not, hanging victims who have been unattended for too long have their tongues sticking out of their bloated faces.”
It was a horrifying image, and Graham knew that it was 100 percent true. He knew it because he’d seen movies where that was nearly the exact image portrayed. The tongue was the most disgusting part. And the scrotum. Jesus, the thought of a swollen, purple ball sack was enough to ruin anyone’s stomach. Terror welled from his gut. Was that whole vomiting thing about to happen now?
“I’ll leave you to your shivering,” Teddy said. “But first, I have a surprise for you.”
On cue, the freezer door opened again, and Graham heard movement behind him.
“You may pivot,” Teddy said. “Just be careful not to trip and break your neck. I don’t want you to miss your surprise.”
Graham quick-stepped a tight circle to his left, toward the sound he’d heard.
When he saw his surprise, there was no way to contain his horror.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Jonathan launched the Raven with more or less the same motion he would have launched a Hail Mary pass with in a football game — a wide overhead pitch counterbalanced by an extended left arm. The electric motor was already up to speed, so once free of his hand, it was airborne and in controlled flight. LeBron and Georgie stood so close to him that it was difficult not to hit them in the head with his follow-through.
“So, what’s that going to do?” LeBron asked.
“It’s going to send us some awesome pictures,” Jonathan said. He led the tiny parade back into the house, where Boxers was engrossed in the business of piloting the aircraft via a mini control panel and a computer screen, to which Dawn seemed 100 percent glued.
“Nice launch, Boss,” Boxers said. “You didn’t do that girlie throw-into-the-ground move. That would’ve been embarrassing for all of us.” As he spoke, his eyes never left the screen, which showed very little of interest. If you used your imagination, you could see the ground passing underneath the drone’s camera, but it required a suspension of disbelief.
Boxers was the pilot of the team, but Jonathan understood most of the rudimentary elements of navigation and aerodynamics, so he knew that Big Guy was guiding the Raven by instruments, coordinating the nonvisual elements of compass direction, altitude, airspeed, and even wind speed to bring the UAV on target. The camera was working, thus the near-images of the ground, but there was no definitive image to observe.
Twenty or thirty seconds later, the screen filled with an overhead view of the building they’d seen as a blueprint. Next to Boxers’ navigation screen, Jonathan pulled up the plan view that Venice had uploaded for him. He also re-upped the blueprint package, just in case they needed it.
“That’s amazing,” LeBron said. “You can see everything.”
It was a true statement, emphasis on everything. The days of grainy black-and-white or silver-and-white IR technology as the only way to see in the dark were gone. If you had the bucks to spend and the access to the developers of top-secret technology, modern optics had the power to transform night into day.
Boxers’ eyes narrowed as his concentration increased. As the pilot, his eyes stayed on the computer images of a control panel, and he could afford only brief glances at the images that were beamed back. Jonathan recorded the images for later examination. Because everything was digital, they would be able to freeze any frame they wanted and zoom in on it as if it were a high-definition still photograph. Very cool technology.
Boxers flew the aircraft first in a wide circle around the building, and then in a zigzag pattern over the top. Even before careful analysis, Jonathan took in the obvious — people stood at each of the doorways. The prudent assumption would be that they were armed guards. Each was positioned in such a way that they would be difficult to see from the street.
“What’s your altitude?” Jonathan asked.
“About four hundred feet. Even if they looked straight up, they wouldn’t be able to see or hear a thing.”
After five, maybe seven minutes of cruising over the building, Boxers said, “I’ve seen everything I need. Ready to call it a night for the Raven.”
“Affirm. Before we get hooked.” Even in a tense situation, cool technology could become mesmerizing in itself, the coolness factor converting the equipment into a toy, and the recon mission into playtime.
“This is like Jack Bauer shit,” Georgie said.
“Big Guy could kick Jack Bauer’s ass,” Jonathan said through a grin.
“And not even break a sweat,” Boxers said. His eyes never left his controls.
“Can anybody buy one of these?” LeBron asked.
“If you’ve got enough money and you know the right people, I suppose you can buy anything,” Jonathan said. He didn’t add that he’d built an entire career around doing just that. “But you won’t find it in RadioShack.”
“Who are you people really?” Dawn asked. It was the question that she couldn’t get past. “All these guns and electronics, throwing cash around like it’s water. Who are you?”
Jonathan turned away from the screen and addressed her. She stood behind her husband and his brother, hugging herself. Tears balanced on her eyelids. She was scared.
Jonathan stood from his chair and gently nudged the young men to step out of his way. “Don’t touch anything,” he said. He approached Dawn slowly, easily. He set his face on what he hoped was a look of compassion.
As he closed the distance, Dawn took a step back and he stopped. He didn’t want to invade her space. “Dawn, all I can tell you is that we’re the good guys. I have no way to prove that to you, and I understand what a leap of faith it must be for you to believe that, but I swear to God it’s the truth. We’re here to help a young man and a young woman live to see tomorrow. Really, that’s all we’re about.”
Dawn looked at him, assessed him, for a long time. Maybe thirty seconds. “This young man and young woman. How old are they?”
“Fourteen and twenty-seven.” As the words passed his lips, he heard Boxers growl. More of the sharing that he detested.
“Which is which?” Dawn asked.
“The male is the younger.”
“So he’s a baby.”
“Hey!” Georgie said. “I’m fifteen. I’m no baby.”
Dawn smirked, and Jonathan got it.
“What did they do?”
“They were in the wrong place at the wrong time. They have some very dangerous information.”
“Yo, Boss,” Boxers said. “How about a little discretion here?”
“We’re in their home, Big Guy. It’s only right that we share as much as we can.” To Dawn, he said, “Don’t ask what that information is. That would be a step too far.”
Dawn stewed a little longer. “So, if I called the Detroit PD right now…”
She let the sentence hang in the air.